Soulmates
by xXriujooXx
Summary: Tony finally admits to himself how deep his feelings for Ziva really go, but his problem is finding a way to let her know about his change of heart. Inspired by the quote "You could have called..." in Agent Afloat.
1. You Could Have Called

**This is a random thing that I wrote to go with the new episode Agent Afloat. I guess it's kind of a tag...but not really. It's bascially Tony ranting to himself about his feelings for Ziva.**

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**Soulmates**

"_You could have called."_

She was right. He could have. He _should_ have.

But he was too much of a coward, too much of an imbecile to come out and say it.

So he had contented all those months with just talking to her pictures, the ones he had taken of her while they were in L.A. While he was having fun instead of doing his job.

He ranted about lack of intelligent conversation, he ranted about the lack of women, he ranted about the lack of any place to go. He talked to her picture about how he felt trapped on the stupid ship, surrounded by people who he felt hated him.

He talked to her about how much he missed her, how much he wished he was with her.

How much he loved her.

The idea had been growing in his mind for some time now, the idea that he just might possibly be in love with her. It was all because of that African lady, the one who went on and on about soul mates. He was first scared by the concept; if everyone had a soul mate, then that would mean someone was out there for him. What if it was Jeanne, and he had lost his one chance for this divine, complete happiness? He began to think on this for a while, entertaining this ridiculous notion. If he _were_ to maybe, possibly, be seriously considering this soul mate idea…who the hell would it be? What would she be like? And the more he thought about it, the easier it became to construct this idea of his perfect match, of everything that he admired and looked for in a woman.

He didn't realize that this image in his mind was slowly beginning to take the shape of Ziva until she brought up the subject.

"_Do you ever think about soul mates?"_

The question, coupled by the immediate and mentally incapacitating epiphany that this incurred, caught him of guard. He had no idea what he wanted to say to that, so he went into autopilot.

"_They were on Decca, right? Big hit, mid seventies? Sort of a disco thing? Sing a few bars, I'll get it."_

When she left, obviously disappointed and hurt, he slapped himself upside the head. He deserved it. But she had just sprung the question on him like that! He was unprepared; they had been talking about immigrants not two seconds before.

He was an idiot.

So he was left alone to contemplate this new development in his emotional complex. Did this mean he was in love with Ziva?

_Yes._

But this was so different from anything he'd ever felt before. He was had been in love with Jeanne, right? He knew what love felt like, and this newfound connection to Ziva was…was…

For a man who always seemed to have words, he sure as hell could find any for this. So his spare moments on the job were consumed by this internal debate with himself. On the outside, he was normal and treated everyone the same. On the inside he was torn, ripped to little tiny pieces as he struggled to come to terms with his stupid emotions. He tried to convince himself that it wasn't a good idea to try anything with Ziva. He could just be imagining things; he could be on some drug that was causing him to think thoughts that weren't his.

Various movie scenarios flashed through his mind: Alien abduction, brain transplants, someone slipping him a weird-ass poison from like, South America…

He even looked up Y. Pestis to see if complete mental breakdowns were a side effect that could occur years later.

A quote from a T.V. show came floating into his memory.

"_Sir, I think you may have a problem with your brain being missing."_

Damn straight he did.

He had turned back to Ziva's picture on his bulletin board and run his fingers through his hair in frustration. What the hell was he going to do? Vance sent her to Israel. What was she doing right now? Was she alright? Was she alive?

The last thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. He wouldn't think about that. She was tough. She could take care of herself.

But what if she wasn't?

He made a promise to himself right then and there that the next time he was on land he would do whatever it took to talk to her, if only for a moment. He wrote it down, he reminded himself everyday...

And yet, when the chance came up, his hand froze. He was sitting in a bar, arm stretched out towards the pay phone, the coins already in the slot, but his fingers would not move. He couldn't dial the number. His mind went blank. All his thoughts, everything he was going to say, went out the window and fled from his mind, leaving him defenseless.

With a sigh of anger at himself, he had turned and walked back to the ship, locking himself in his office-slash-bedroom. He longed for a form of human contact that didn't wear a uniform. He missed D.C. He missed McGee. He missed Abby and Gibbs and Ducky.

He missed Ziva.

Between the visions of Ziva haunting his waking moments and the visions of Director Shepard haunting his sleep, life became impossible without a bottle of something strong in his hand. Nights would find him in his room, sitting in his bed, staring blankly off into space as he tried to drink the memories away.

Gibbs didn't blame him. Nobody did.

But he blamed himself. He should have listened to Ziva. He should have.

Life became shit. Waking up to the ache behind his eyes after an alcohol-induced slumber to spend a fourteen hour day playing rent-a-cop on a ship of five thousand, only to come back to his room and repeat the process.

After the first month things had gotten easier. A call from Gibbs had reawakened hope in him that he wouldn't have to stay in this hell he was sent to for much longer.

And then they found the uniform on the back of the ship, a moment of excitement in an otherwise dull world. He talked to Gibbs and McGee and got a chance to set foot on land. Things were looking up.

On a sunny morning he called the office, needing advice on the case. He called Gibbs, knowing that would be the most efficient way to do it; anyone else and he would end up being passed from person to person as each one said hello and gave him an update on their life. As much as he would have liked that, though, he didn't think he would be able to cope with it today. Maybe he would call back some other time.

He was taken by surprise then, when McGee answered the phone. All previous thoughts were left behind as he greeted his former partner with exuberance and excitement, launching into jokes about the new Director and his need for tequila.

He almost had a heart attack when he heard Gibbs' voice behind him. He turned slowly, and there she was, standing next to his boss, her wonderfully curly hair falling delicately across one side of her face.

After initial hellos had subsided, he shifted once again into his normal mode. He wasn't going to say anything to Ziva until Gibbs was away…preferably on another continent so the man's super human senses couldn't interfere.

There were still the occasional glances; he could have sworn there was something in those looks she kept shooting at him when she thought he wasn't looking. But maybe it was just normal I-missed-you looks. Maybe they were just his imagination. Maybe he was seeing things again, his own personal feelings clouding up his judgment and perception again.

She talked to him very little. She asked him about Jenny; she could she could probably tell something was eating at him inside.

She was right, of course, when she guessed he still blamed himself. But the other part, the part that concerned her…the important one…she didn't voice out loud.

She asked him if he was still drinking.

"_Not as much as I used to."_

"_You could have called."_

**

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**

So there you go. Not as good as my other one this week...it's called Broken, and its a Tony fic that I'm extremely proud of. If you read anything else today, go read that.

**Now I'm going to go watch NCIS...maybe one from season 2...**

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	2. Distance

**So...after much thought and some prodding from reviewers...I've decided to continue this story for a little while. I've got some ideas. I'm telling ya, while I was out last night I had a serious brainwave for this story. **

**This chapter is kinda boring, but bear with me here. Just more speculation on Tony's thoughts...The first chapter I'm now considering as more of a prologue to the rest of the story. **

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We had come directly to the office from the airport, and my car was still resting comfortably in its space at my apartment complex. So, that night Ziva drove me home. I didn't know how that happened; usually I did everything possible to make sure I was never in that situation. Maybe I was drunk. Maybe this new concept I had of Ziva had driven my common sense and will to live completely out of my head.

But the drive wasn't as life threatening as it usually was.

Actually, I was surprised when she didn't even break a single traffic law.

We didn't speak on the way there, and Ziva didn't seem to need directions. Every time I opened my mouth to tell her where to turn, she was already in the process of reading my mind. I tried to talk about something else, but her posture and silence signaled to me that now was not the time to start any sort of conversation. So I just sat back against the seat and relaxed my muscles, stiff from traveling, relief and happiness at being home and back on dry land washing over me. It had been a rough day; after everything that had happened it was hard to believe I had been in the Banana Moon talking to Hector only this morning.

She pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex, her red Mini Cooper coming to a rest right next to my beloved Mustang. I almost cried like a baby when I saw it. Driving isn't really a privilege you miss until it's gone.

"Thanks," I said quietly, making no move to open the door or get out of the car.

"You are welcome."

More silence. It was aggravating, not talking. The awkward silence that it created was hard to bear...the only way to get out of it would be to get out of the car, to leave, and I didn't want to do that just yet. So I just sat there and breathed heavily, inhaling the wonderful scent of her perfume, waiting for her to speak.

"I missed you, Tony," she said quietly, after what seemed like hours.

"I missed you too, Ziva," I replied, turning to look at her seriously now. I wanted her to understand that this wasn't just one of those automatic responses people say, that I really meant this.

I wanted her to see through me, read my mind, to know how I felt and what I was thinking right now. I wouldn't be able to get the words out, but I wanted her to _know_. I wanted her to realize that after all this time, I had finally gotten past my idiocy and pigheadedness, that I, Anthony DiNozzo, was officially a changed man. It was horrible that separation was what it took to get that message through my head.

"_Why does distance make us wise?"_

"I guess you should be getting up to your apartment," she murmured. "It is late, and it would not be good for you to be late on your first day back."

She was right, of course. She was always right.

"Okay. See you tomorrow," I said, and my hand slowly curled around the door handle. "Listen, Ziva, thanks―"

"It is no problem. I was happy to do it."

"That wasn't what I was going to say."

She was staring straight ahead, over the steering wheel, avoiding my eyes. With a quick flash her arm darted downward and I heard a pop as the trunk was opened.

"Don't forget your stuff," she said softly, still staring. "See you tomorrow."

I sighed. I wasn't going to get any further with anything tonight. I grabbed my bags out of the back and swung them over my shoulder. As soon as I was clear, Ziva began backing out, a little too fast to be entirely safe. She didn't want me to come back to the window and talk to her.

Something was up with her, I decided as I let myself into my apartment, and I was determined to find out. I threw my stuff into a corner, not feeling up to unpacking tonight. Instead I went straight for the shower, peeling off layers of clothing as I went. It had been months since I'd had any decent hot water…and I definitely missed it.

I let the water pound into me for at least half an hour, letting the steamy water cover my skin, calming the soreness of my tense muscles. I longed for it to take away this emotional turmoil, to ease the pain of the torment and the agony I was feeling.

I thought about Ziva as I got out and toweled myself dry. I thought about her beautiful eyes, I thought about her soft skin. I thought about her temper, and the way her eyes flashed when I corrected one of her mixed up idioms or managed to get out a really clever jab when Gibbs was out of earshot.

I thought about her hair, and the way it seemed to shine no matter how she was wearing it that day.

I thought about how much I was in love with her, and what her reaction would be if I finally managed to get up the courage to actually admit my true feelings.

_Ha. Like that was ever going to happen._

Pulling on a pair of old pajamas bottoms that were still lying on the floor from the last time I was home, I sighed and sat onto my couch, sinking deep into the cushions and leaning back. I ran my fingers through my wet hair and exhaled deeply. This was so aggravating. It was worse than the movies; though at least in those you had writers that would have your words written for you. I had no idea what I was going to do about this particular problem.

Not for the first time, I wished I had someone to go to for advice on this sort of thing. Normally, I would have gone to Gibbs in a heartbeat, but seeing as I needed advice on breaking one of his own rules, I decided that it wouldn't be such a good idea. My next option, one I'd used several times before, would be to go to Director Shepard―Jenny―but seeing as she was dead now because of my asinine, probie-like mistakes in L.A. four months ago, that wasn't a feasible option either.

So who else could I turn to? Obviously McGee was out of the question; I couldn't trust the younger agent with a covert operation like this when he had demonstrated several times before his inability to keep secrets, especially my secrets, quiet around Ziva.

Abby? Maybe. A woman's opinion on this sort of thing would be very valuable. She could be a great help…or a great hindrance: I could visualize her bugging me about this new development every time she and I were alone.

And maybe even when we weren't alone. Gibbs had an uncanny ability to pop up in the scientist's lab without warning. It was risky.

So that left Ducky. And the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of going to the wise, older man for advice like this. He knew everything, because he's _seen_ everything. I wanted to slap myself upside the head for not thinking about him first. Now I just needed to catch the ME when Palmer the assistant was off doing an errand or something.

I liked this plan. It was a good plan…the writers in my head for the screenplay of my life got some serious inspiration. I might even give them an Oscar. All that was left now was to actually get up enough courage to put this plan into motion. As I thought some more about it, I decided that there was an eighty percent chance I would freak out and not say anything at all; I felt like an idiotic, lovestruck teenager who just realized he was crushing on his best friend.

_Oh God…how cliché is that? All those movies are seriously fucking with your reality, DiNozzo…_

With a groan of frustration, I collapsed over onto the couch, burying my face in the pillows. This was so aggravating…how could I even go to work tomorrow, look her in the eye, without her knowing that something was up, without completely giving myself away?

I fell asleep on my couch, these thoughts whirling and tossing within my head. I woke to the sound of my phone ringing insistently from on top of my dresser in my bedroom. I sat bolt upright, startled. I was not used to waking up in my own apartment after all those months at sea, let alone spread out on my couch in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms. I rubbed my eyes, then quickly went into the other room to grab my phone.

It was McGee.

"What?" I asked, answering the infernal thing.

"Someone's testy this morning," the younger agent replied.

"Yeah, because it's freaking five in the morning, McAlarm Clock."

"Gibbs got a call. Double homicide in Georgetown."

I groaned. "Figures…first day back and I'm already going to be pulling an all-nighter."

"How do you know it's going to be an all-nighter?"

"I've been at this stuff longer than you have, Probie. I can just tell these things."

"I'm sure you can. Boss wants us at the Yard in thirty minutes."

I groaned and hung up the phone with a snap, going to my closet and searching for a clean shirt with the least amount of wrinkles. I really had to do laundry...

I made it to the office only a minute late, though I was still the last to arrive.

"Where the hell have you been, DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded as I walked in.

"I'm only a minu―"

I was cut off by a hard slap upside the head.

"Just like old times…" I said wryly.

"McGee, gas the truck," Gibbs said gruffly, tossing Probie the keys. "DiNozzo. David. Take the car and meet us at the Baker's house."

"Where's that?"

Gibbs pulled a sticky note off the pad on his desk and slapped it on my forehead like I was in grade school. I could see an address written on it in Gibbs' blocky capital letters.

"Thanks Boss."

Ziva laughed, and it was that sound that finally alerted me to her presence. I turned around, the sticky note still on my forehead. "What is so funny, Dah-veed?" I asked, accenting the syllables because I knew it annoyed her.

"You are still the same old Tony," she said, something strange in her eyes as she said it.

"Still sexy, funny, and loveable, you mean."

She walked around her desk as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and ripped the sticky note off of my face.

"You forgot 'arrogant'," she murmured as she walked past me. "Let's go, Tony."

I followed her towards the elevator.

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**The random quote in the middle "Why does distance make us wise?" is from the musical RENT...I was listening to the soundtrack while writing this. I don't know why i put it in there...it just seemed to fit for some reason. **


	3. Ducky's Advice

**Okay. So I would have had this up like, two days ago but I was too busy writing the end of the story. **

**Don't freak out on me...we're not even close to the end yet. But I had a massive brainwave while watching Batman Returns (Michael Keaton, Michelle Pfeiffer, Danny DeVito, 1992) on Sunday I just had to write it down before I forgot. I'm sure you other writers will understand...XD **

**Not much Tony-Ziva interaction in here except for my shamless use of a Princess Bride quote...but there is that talk with Ducky I hinted at.**

**I apologize for any mistakes...my grammar-Nazi feature isn't working today and I don't know if I caught everything.**

**Oh, and as a heads up for those of you who haven't watched it yet: Spoiler alert warning for Capitol Offense (6x03) at the bottom. **

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We got to the crime scene faster than the truck, though Ziva and I had stopped for breakfast. She was back to her own suicidal driving habits; I spent most of the drive with my eyes shut tight. Last night seemed forgotten, and we were back to normal: bickering like children over candy.

"I wish you'd let me drive," I moaned. "Or I'm going to die of a heart attack before I hit forty."

She chuckled and patted my arm. "You are such a turkey, Tony."

"Chicken," I replied automatically, before realizing what I had said. "Wait…hey!"

We got out of the car and looked around. The neightborhood was nice, aside from the bright yellow police tape surrounding the house in front of us. Clean lawns, painted shutters, BMW's in all the garages. All it needed was a creepy mansion on top of the hill and it would be just like the Suburbia in Edward Scissorhands...minus Johnny Depp and his garden shears.

"You the Feds?" a voice asked, and Ziva and I turned to see a police officer walking up to us.

"Yes. Special Agents DiNozzo and David, NCIS," I said, pulling out my badge and flipping it open for him to see.

"The bodies are in the living room," the man said, gesturing. "Our ME estimated the time of death to be about four days ago."

I heard the truck, with Gibbs and McGee inside, pull up behind me. "Good. We'll take it from here, Officer…?"

"Marshall. Leonard Marshall."

"Okay. Thanks Lenny."

"Help McGee with the truck," Gibbs said, gruffly, coming over to me. "Ziva, with me."

"Could you get my bag for me, Tony?" Ziva asked, following Gibbs into the house.

"As you wish," I said, looking her straight in the eye and praying to all the holy powers that she hadn't seen The Princess Bride.

"Tony! Truck! Now!"

"Right boss," I said, turning away from Ziva and walking over to watch McGee unload.

"Aren't you going to help me?" the younger agent asked, struggling with the equipment.

"I'm supervising. It is my duty, me being a Senior Field Agent and all."

…

The crime scene was very self explanatory. The bodies of two Marine wives, Debbie Baker and Lisa Anderson, were lying in the living room, both in jumbled and awkward states, suggesting that they had been thrown to their final resting places. Blood was all over the wall, the floor, and the furniture, as well as three bullets.

"Where are the other two?" McGee asked. I looked at him. "I mean, there are five bullet wounds. Shouldn't we be able to find two more?"

"They could still be lodged in the bodies, Timothy," Ducky said, coming through the open front door to join them.

"Find them, Duck," Gibbs said, coming in from the kitchen after talking to the cleaning lady who had discovered the bodies.

"I'd have to get them back to Autopsy first, Jethro. Be patient."

"Time of death, then. The LEO's ME estimated four days."

"Then what do you need me here for?"

"Don't believe what you're told―"

"―Always double check," Ducky, Ziva, McGee, and I finished for him.

Gibbs was silent…I wasn't sure if he was happy that we remembered his rules or upset at being interrupted. Then he spoke to Ducky. "Tell Tony what you find out. I'm going to go out and talk to the neighbors across the street. McGee, you come with me. Ziva, Mrs. Hernandez is in the kitchen...Escort her home, please."

"What about me, boss?" I asked, noticing I hadn't been given a job to do.

"Help Ducky."

And then he left, followed closely by Ziva and the maid, conversing quietly to each other in Spanish. When I was alone with the ME, I finally noticed that someone was missing.

"Where's Palmer?" I asked, looking around.

"He is under the weather today, I'm afraid," he responded. "So I'm a little understaffed." Ducky pulled the liver probe out of the first woman's stomach. "Time of death for this one is about four to five days ago."

I wrote it down.

"And the other one?"

Ducky bent over the second woman and there was silence for a couple of seconds.

"Same time."

"Alright."

I watched Ducky through the window as he pulled out his gear from the back of the ME truck, and an internal debate raged inside me. This chance, the chance I'd been hoping for…had just landed in my lap. Palmer out sick, Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva away…

"Let me help you with that, Ducky," I said, coming up to him and assisting him with the gurney.

"Ah, thanks you, Tony," he said. "One never quite appreciates someone until they're gone."

"I hear that, Ducky," I said ruefully, my mind flashing back to Ziva again and those four horrible months I spent at sea not talking about her, worrying about her…dreaming about her…

It took us about ten minutes to get the two women into the back of the ME truck, and I saw Gibbs coming out of one of the neighboring houses and wave me over to him.

"Baker and Anderson were close friends, according to the neighbor," he said. "Both of their husbands are deployed in the same unit over in Iraq." Gibbs sighed. "They were due to come home in a month. When we're done with the crime scene we need talk to Vance…Those Marines need to come home for this."

"I can do it now," I offered. "Ducky's short a man today…I can help him back to NCIS and then talk to Vance."

I don't know what made me offer my assistance to Ducky. Up until two seconds ago I was still undecided, still ripped apart by the situation. But it seemed like the perfect opportunity…and I half expected Gibbs to roll his eyes and tell me to do something different, maybe send Probie instead, but he just nodded.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Hey, Ducky!" he called to his friend.

"Yes, Jethro?"

"Don't leave just yet. Tony's going back with you."

"Thanks boss," I said quickly, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. I didn't want him to start suspecting anything.

"When you get back, tell Vance I'm going to need MTAC," he added.

"Right boss." I jogged quickly back to the truck and hopped in the passenger side. "Let's go, Ducky," I said, shutting the door.

As he began to pull the big truck out of the Baker's driveway, I began to have second thoughts. I was easier and easier for me to think of reasons _not_ to talk to him, to keep my feelings for Ziva locked inside. Nothing good could come of it, I reasoned. I was just being stupid. It would be better not to. I would regret it. I might shock Ducky into a heart attack by acting so out of character.

_But it will make you feel better._

No it won't. I'll just feel as horrible as I do now.

_If you keep things locked inside like this, you're going to explode._

That only happens in movies.

_You might not get such a perfect chance like this…_

"Hey…Ducky?" I asked, uncharacteristic tentativeness leeching through my words. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Tony. What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" I said quickly. "Nothing's wrong. What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You aren't acting like yourself today."

"Yes I am."

The ME laughed. "Come on, Tony. We know each other too well for that. I can tell when something is bothering you."

Damn. Not a good idea…not a good idea…not a good idea…

_Just say it, you idiot! _

"I'm just…" I trailed off, not knowing how to start. It was weird, not knowing how to say something. Usually I had the opposite problem.

"Just what?"

"I don't know where to start," I confessed.

"The beginning is as good a place as any."

"That's just the thing, Ducky. I don't know when it started…" I ran my fingers through my hair. "Maybe it was when Vance split us up…maybe it was when we went undercover…maybe it was when I first met her. I can't tell."

Ducky was silent for a moment as he put my words and my actions together. "Ah," he said. "I see where this is going."

"You do?" I asked hopefully. "Good. Because I'm having trouble with coherency on the subject."

"I understand completely what you mean…When I was a lad living in Scotland I met this lovely girl by the name of―"

I let the ME ramble on for a while until we had reached NCIS. If he was talking, then that meant I didn't have to. "What do I do, Ducky?" I asked, interrupting him in the middle of his story about him and some chick named Harriet and their whirlwind summer romance in the brisk countryside of his homeland. "It's eating me from the inside…I don't know how to handle it."

"Does she know how you feel, Tony?"

"No…and I'm afraid to tell her. She might kill me."

"Nonsense. Ziva may be an assassin, but she's still just another woman when it comes to this sort of thing."

We stopped this conversation to unload the gurneys and wheel them in to Autopsy.

"Listen, Ducky," I said as I made my way to the doors. "Do you think you could keep this between us? I rather no one else knew…especially Gibbs. You know how he gets when you break on of his rules."

"Your secret is safe with me, my dear boy, though I think you shouldn't worry. Gibbs may be hard, but don't let him and his rules stand in the way of your own happiness."

I thought about that as I pressed the button on the elevator that would take me to the squad room. The talk with Ducky had been short (on my part) but it made me feel better. I now had someone to look to for help, someone I could trust. The pressure inside me was a little more relieved.

I almost ran into Vance as I stepped out of the elevator.

"Tony," he said. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Still at the crime scene, sir," I replied. "I came back early to help Ducky."

"What's the status?"

"Um…the victims were Lisa Anderson and Debbie Baker, found on the Bakers' living room floor. Discovered by the housekeeper. Been dead about five days. Husbands are deployed together in Iraq, due to come home in a month. Gibbs wants me to ask you to ask to have them come home early."

Vance stared at me. "Does he now?"

I nodded. "Almost a direct quote," I said.

"Almost?"

"I paraphrased to make it seem like he actually asked for permission."

"That's what I thought. Who are the Marines he wants?"

"I was just about to figure that out…" I said, heading towards my desk.

"You do that. "

As soon as I sat down, my cell phone rang.

"Tony DiNozzo," I answered, typing fiercely.

"What have you got?" Gibbs asked.

"A dirty apartment and a '66 Mustang," I responded without thinking.

"On the case, DiNozzo."

"Right. Sorry boss. Running down the list right now."

About five seconds later, the monitor beeped, signaling that the search was done. "The names are Taylor Anderson and Chuck Baker, boss," I said. "Both snipers, 32 years old. Served together since '98…and they graduated from the same high school in Arkansas. Looks like they did everything together, boss."

"Get a hold of them, don't tell them why…this sort of thing needs to be done in person," Gibbs said. "Has Ducky found the other bullets yet?"

"Not yet, sir…we just got back ten minutes ago. Find anything else in the house?"

"I don't know yet, Tony."

And then the line went dead as Gibbs hung up on me.

Typical.

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**I felt so bad for Gibbs in the episode yesterday, with his friend betraying his trust like that...what a stupidface that guy was...**


	4. Ten Seconds

**Okay. This chapter is slightly longer than the others, and that's half the reason that this wasn't updated over the weekend. the other half is the fact that I had to write a paper for my comp class. (Another reason why I like college so much: I got to write a paper on Batman)**

**And I was watching the new Twilight trailer like, four hundred thousand times. **

**Oh, and wanna know something totally random? I was in the grocery store looking for pasta sauces and there was this red sauce that was totally labeled 'Vodka Sauce'. I almost got it...just so when my mother called and asked what I made myself for dinner I could say I had vodka noodles...heehee. **

**Small things amuse me, as you can see. **

**Okay. Done rambling on about nothing. You can read the chapter now...**

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I was sitting in my desk the next day when McGee walked in with the two Marines. I could see that they were confused and angry, having been abruptly hauled back to America with no explanations.

"What are we doing here, Agent McGee?" the first one asked. "Are we suspected of some sort of crime?"

"No, sir," McGee said, and I could tell that he was struggling with Gibbs' orders not to say anything. I decided to step in and relieve the younger agent.

"I'll take it from here, McGee," I said, getting up from my desk and walking over to intercept them. Probie flashed me a grateful look and walked over to his desk and sat down. I saw him pick up his phone, and I guessed he was calling Abby. "Please follow me, gentlemen," I said, dropping into formalities, trying hard to remain passive. I did not envy Gibbs and Vance's duty on this one; I would not want to be the one to tell someone that the love of their life was dead. As I walked up the stairs, I caught Ziva's eye. Her face was contorted in chagrin and sorrow, the exact mirror image of McGee's.

Gibbs was waiting outside Conference Room 1. "In here, Lance Corporals," I said quietly, gesturing through the open doors. Gibbs and I followed them in, but as I made to leave and shut the door behind me, he stopped me.

"Sit down, DiNozzo," he said softly.

_Damn it! _

I sat down next to Gibbs and across from the pissed Marines, dreading what was about to happen with every fiber of my being.

"What's this about, sir?" Lance Corporal Anderson asked. "We haven't been told anything but 'pack your bags' since we left Iraq! Why did you have us dragged all the way home?"

"Can we at least call our wives and tell them we're stateside?" Baker added.

"You can see your wives in a minute," Gibbs said.

"They're here?" Anderson asked incredulously. "I didn't see them when we walked in."

"They're downstairs…two days ago we found them murdered in your living room, Lance Corporal Baker."

There was a complete and total silence that lasted almost ten seconds―ten agonizing seconds in which the two young Marines digested the terrible information.

"W-what?" Baker said, his voice thick. "No…"

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said quietly, wanting to say something…anything…that could comfort them.

"How did it happen?" Anderson asked.

"We're still working on it, but the cause of death is multiple gunshot wounds to the chest," Gibbs said, slowly. "We brought you back so we could tell you in person and offer our condolences."

"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" Baker demanded, having switched into the 'blind anger' stage of grief extremely quickly. I got the feeling he was a generally hotheaded person.

"Not yet. Did you or your wives have any enemies? Anyone you would suspect?"

"No…Lisa and Debbie were liked everywhere they went," Anderson said quietly. He seemed to be less aggressive than his friend. "I can't think of anyone that would want to…to…"

"Murder them."

"Yeah."

"What about you? Anyone with a grudge against you?"

Anderson thought for a moment. "Well, yeah, but I don't think any of them are extreme enough to commit murder, and most of them haven't even met Lisa or Debbie."

"I'm going to need a list," Gibbs said, sliding a notepad and pen forward.

"I want to see her," Baker demanded.

"After you make the list."

"No! Now! And then I want to kill the bastard that did this."

"Chuck…calm down. This is NCIS," Anderson said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "They'll find who did this. It's their job."

"He's right," Gibbs added. "We _will_ find who did this. We _will_ bring them to justice―you have my word as a Marine."

"You were a Marine, sir?" Baker asked.

"Gunnery Sergeant."

"Desert Storm?"

"Wow…he guessed correctly!" I said, my shock barreling over my promise to myself to keep my damn mouth shut.

All three men turned and stared at me. "It's just…most people want to say Vietnam." Gibbs fixed me with one of his Stares…complete with a capital 'S'. "It's the grey hair, boss…" I trailed off, regaining control of the part of my brain that controlled the _shut-the-hell-up_ function.

"DiNozzo…stay in here with them. When they're done with that list, take them down to Ducky."

"Yes, boss."

To say it was awkward in there would be an understatement. I finally had to stand up and walk to the window, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I couldn't even imagine what those two Marines were going through right now; mostly because I had never had anyone like that in my life before. I had come close, though. I tried to imagine how I would feel if Jeanne had been killed while I had been undercover, or if…Ziva was killed now.

The knife-shredding-my-insides feeling that came up when I thought about it was not pleasant, and I hurriedly tried to think of something else. Movies. College escapades. Practical jokes to test out on McGee. Anything. Everything. Something.

I don't know how long it was that I stood at the window before Lance Corporal Anderson called my name.

"We have a list, sir," he said. "But I don't want to suspect any of these people."

"I understand, but we need something to go on," I explained, picking up the list of names off the table. "Even the wrong lead is better than no lead at all."

I had totally just made that up, trying to make them feel better, but looking back I guess I've decided that's more or less true. Getting all the wrong people could be frustrating, sure, but not as frustrating as having no one and letting a murder case run cold.

"Can we see our wives now?" Baker asked quietly, seeming to have calmed down some.

If I was a mob boss, I would be putting Gibbs on my hit list after this.

"Right this way," I said, opening the door and leading them to the elevator, stopping only to drop the suspect list on Ziva's desk.

…

Autopsy was silent. Ducky and I stood, detached, over by his desk while the two Marines had some time with the bodies of their wives. Palmer was still absent.

"I hate this part," Ducky said to me. "It's the one aspect of my job that I absolutely despise."

"Mine too," I responded. "It makes me feel like I've failed, somehow."

"In what way, Tony?"

"Well…isn't it our job to make sure this doesn't happen?"

"Your job is to make sure that those Marines get justice, to track down the man who did this and put him behind bars."

Leave it to someone else to have to remind me what I did for a living.

Gibbs walked in then, ever-present coffee in his hand. "Did you get a list?" he asked me quietly.

"Yes boss. Gave it to Ziva. It's mostly just people they got into fights with; they don't believe that any of them actually did it."

"Agent Gibbs?"

"Yes, Lance Corporal Baker?"

"Will you tell us when you catch the bastard?" he asked gruffly.

"You will be kept informed of our progress," Gibbs replied simply.

"I want to kill him."

"You will do nothing of the sort."

"Do you know what it's like to have to live with the knowledge that the one person you could every feel truly happy with is gone forever, never to smile, never to laugh, never to call you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice?" Baker asked. "That is _gone_ for us, Agent Gibbs! I want revenge on the bastard that did this!" His emotions were getting the best of him; his tough Marine wall was breaking down.

Gibbs walked forward to him. I thought that he was going to say that he _did_ understand what they were going through, explain to them about Shannon and Kelly…but he just stared at him silently for a moment before turning and walking out of the room.

Well, I guess I should have expected it. He wasn't Gibbs if he wasn't mysterious, annoying, and silent.

Anderson spoke. "Is he always this―"

"Yes," Ducky and I said at the same time.

"But he seemed so―"

"I know."

"And you work―"

"You get used to it."

…

When I went back up to the squad room, Gibbs and McGeek were nowhere to be seen.

"They are in Abby's lab," Ziva answered my unspoken question as I sat down at my desk.

"Oh."

One of those awkward silences ensued, like in the movies where both sides have the urge to say something, but neither have the courage to say it.

"How did it go?" she asked me quietly, speaking first, her large brown eyes piercing my soul as she look me straight in the eyes for the first time since the team had been reunited.

"It could have been worse," I replied. "Do you have anything from the suspect list?"

"I've narrowed it down to one person," she said, clicking a button and pulling the picture up on the plasma. "The others have alibis at the time of the victims' death."

"What leads you to this guy?" I asked.

"I called the convenience store where he works, and apparently he disappeared five days ago. Did not show up for work, has not been returning any calls."

I dialed Gibbs' number and brought him up to speed. "Ziva and I will get started, boss," I said. "We'll meet you there."

"Address?"

"On your desk, boss."

I heard him hang up. "Let's go, Ziva," I said, grabbing my backpack from behind my desk. She followed me to the elevator.

…

The warehouse that the address had led us to was deserted; no sign of anyone. No tire tracks, no trash, no car... The only sound I could hear came from the seagulls and the crashing of the waves against the docks. Ziva and I walked up carefully to the door.

"NCIS," I announced, knocking. "We're here to speak to a Jared Ryan…?"

No answer.

I knocked again. "Hello?"

"He is not answering, Tony," Ziva said.

"Great detective work, David," I said, a little more sarcastic than I meant. "Though there is the possibility that he's just _not here._"

"Why don't we just check then?"

"Because we can't," I replied. "As usual, Gibbs didn't feel like waiting for a warrant. We probably wouldn't get it anyway because we don't have a 'probable cause' to nail the guy with."

"But―"

"He could be in there, planning his next move or something and we can't even do anything about it."

"If he is even guilty. Remember, he is just a―"

"Who's there?" A voice called out loudly. "I can hear your voices!"

"Special Agents DiNozzo and David, NCIS," I called back. "We just need to ask you a couple of questions. Are we speaking to Jared Ryan?"

There was no answer.

"Mr. Ryan?"

The door opened, and a man came into view. His eyes unsettled me; they were wide, bloodshot, and had a tint of craziness around the edges, like Jack Nicholson as the Joker in _Batman._

"I take it you're here about the two dead Marine wives, right?" he asked.

That was a suspicious move on his part. The deaths hadn't been announced to anyone but Baker and Anderson this morning.

"How did you know about them?" Ziva asked, shifting her weight nervously, her hand slowly reaching for her gun.

"Lucky guess." Jared's hand fidgeted around in his pocket.

Ziva and I both pulled out our guns at the same time, pointing them at him.

"So it's true when they say cops are extremely jumpy," he laughed.

"Hands out where we can see them!" I shouted.

He smiled, and looking back I decided that then would have been a good time to just drop everything and run away. Everything about him was off; he wasn't trying to conceal anything or lead us off the track. He seemed to know and even take delight in the fact that we suspected him. I guess some people were just sickos, taking pleasure in being creepy and homicidal. I suddenly felt like Keanu Reeves in _Speed_, being faced with Dennis Hopper.

The feeling increased when Jared pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

I didn't need Ziva's sharp intake of breath to tell me that cell phone wasn't normal.

"I'd run if I were you," Jared said calmly.

"Where is the bomb?" I asked, tightening my hold on my gun. Like it would be any help anyway; it was just comforting to hold it in this tense situation.

"Behind me," he said, stepping slightly to the side so Ziva and I could see inside the warehouse.

There was enough C4 in the middle of the empty building to blow a hole in the world.

"You have ten seconds," Jared said, dialing a couple numbers on the phone in his hand.

I saw something light up.

Without thinking, I grabbed Ziva's hand and began to sprint. The car wasn't safe, there was too much C4 for it to be safely out of range. So I ran straight for the dock, bright neon numbers counting down in my head.

_Eight…seven…_

"Where are you going, Tony?" Ziva shouted as we ran. I didn't answer. She would figure it out soon enough.

_Six…five…_

I kept heading for the dock and the Atlantic Ocean.

_Four…_

Just a little bit farther…

_Three…two…_

In the second before the explosion, everything was eerily silent. No birds, no cars, no voices…nothing.

_One._

Behind us, the world ripped apart. The noise was deafening, and the shock as the force rippled through the earth almost caused me to fall. I could feel the heat behind me as I ran and the wind as the warehouse was forced outward. I leapt off the dock, pulling Ziva behind me, never letting go of her hand.

The water was cold, but I hardly noticed. After being initially submersed we came up for air. Debris followed us out into the water, and I pulled Ziva under the dock and pressed her up against one of the concrete pillars, shielding her with my body. The water came up to the vicinity of our shoulders and was chilly, but the blazing heat from the explosion above us nullified that.

All that I could do know was wait and pray that we had enough cover as chunks of wood and metal continued to rain down on us.

* * *

**Soooooooo...I totally watched this freaking awesome movie called The Prestige last night and OMG. I'm like, freaking out about it. It was so good. Like amazing. Christian Bale plus Hugh Jackman plus David Bowie? even if the movie _wasn't_ completely awesome I still would have watched it just to stare at them. **


	5. Hit List

**Holy crap...I think this is the fastest update in the history of me, like, updating. I think that's cause for celebration. Since I am a broke college student...throwing money at me in gratitude is always a nice treat. Also may I suggest starting a new religion in my honor?**

**Okay. Stopping now. Mom always said I was too full of crap to be a normal human being. That's unconditional love for you, I guess.**

**And now time for my random quote/observation/non sequitur of the day: My friend and i were at a meeting for work the other day and they gave us free bottles of water, simply labeled 'Artesian Water'. I was all like, "How the hell do you get _Artesian Water_?" and myfriend replied, in all seriousness: "It's from Artesia...duh."**

**I'll stop laughing if someone could point "Artesia" out on a map for me...**

**Oh, and I talk about 6x04 "Heartland" below. So if you don't want to be spoiled then don't read the bold print. **

* * *

It was a while before things had subsided enough to be considered calm. Normal hearing had not been restored to me yet, and it felt like I was hanging out with those BOSE Noise-Cancelation headphones they give the first class passengers on planes. I didn't move, still holding Ziva close to me in the chilly water. Burning pieces of wood and what was left of the now-destroyed dock floated by on the water, and I prayed profusely to whatever higher power existed, thanking them fervently for the fact that I was still alive.

The end of the dock had collapsed, cutting off the way out, though I don't think I would have risked swimming back out anyway with all the unseen debris in the water waiting to stab me in unpleasant places.

After a few more shocked, frozen seconds, I heard the sound of tires screeching madly and the sound of doors slamming.

"Tony! Ziva!" Gibbs shouted.

Hearing my name helped get me to move. I was shaking badly, and so was Ziva. As I pulled back, I could still see the explosion in her eyes, and I knew that the experience of nearly being blown up by a suicide bomber brought back memories she would rather forget. Tentatively, I reached up my hand and secured her hair behind her ear, my hands gently caressing the side of her face.

Her eyes were wide and she was breathing heavily; she probably didn't realize I was even there.

"Ziva," I said, meaning to whisper, but I think it came out pretty loud as a result of the aforementioned temporary hearing impediment. "Ziva, are you okay?"

She looked up at me, her eyes connecting with mine, and she seemed to realize where she was. She tried to push herself out of my arms, but I held her fast.

"Are you okay?" I repeated.

"Yes," she replied, succeeding in worming out of my embrace.

"TONY! ZIVA!" Gibbs called again, closer this time.

"Here, boss!" I shouted back, as loud as I could, and there were loud footsteps on what was left of the dock.

"Where's 'here', DiNozzo?"

"Found them, boss," McGee's voice said, and I looked up to see the younger agent's concerned face looking through the gaps in the wood…that weren't there when Ziva and I had run across them not three minutes before.

Gibbs' face appeared next to his, relief flickering on his face for half a second. He would deny it later, of course…but I had seen it and that was good enough for me.

"We can't exactly swim out of here, boss…" I said. "The end of the dock fell down."

His face disappeared, and I heard footsteps walking away.

"Are you guys hurt?" McGee asked, staying in view.

"No…just shaken, I guess," I said. "Can't hear worth shit at the moment though."

McGee smiled. "We were about a mile away when we saw the explosion," he said. "It was huge―We were dodging debris within seconds. And of course Gibbs was speeding through it all…"

"Where did he go?"

McGee turned around to see where the boss-man had gone. "He's getting an axe out of the back of the car."

"An _axe_?"

"Yep."

"Why the hell did he have an axe in the back of the company car?"

"I don't even want to ask."

"Stand back, DiNozzo," Gibbs said when he came back. I grabbed Ziva's arm and pulled her back as McGee and Gibbs worked on making a big enough hole to pull us up through. It didn't take long…the wood was weakened significantly by the blast. Ziva was silent through the whole thing, even when I was forced to put my hands on her ass to help her out. Not even a comment. Nothing.

Something was up with her.

"McGee, call an ambulance," Gibbs said when both Ziva and I were safely out of the water.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "It's just shock and cold water," I said, explaining away the shaking.

Ziva nodded in agreement.

I looked around, taking in the devastation. The warehouse was completely gone…all that was left was a dark, building-shaped smudge and the fiery remnants of mine and Ziva's car.

"Holy shit…"

"When we saw the car we began to fear the worst," McGee said. "What the hell happened?"

I told them the short version: warehouse go boom.

"He seemed to know that we suspected him," I explained. "He knew that the two women were dead."

"That's impossible," McGee said.

"Unless he was the one who did it," Gibbs said.

"And then he stepped back and we saw this mountain of C4," I continued. "That's when I grabbed Ziva and started running…ten seconds later the world exploded."

Sirens were heard in the distance, growing louder and louder. The locals were already responding to the explosion.

Gibbs' phone rang, too. "Gibbs," he answered curtly, just like he always did. "Did you get any hits on those prints?...Thanks Abs…No, they're right here…"

Wordlessly, he handed the phone to me.

"Hello?"

"Tony!" Abby squealed through the phone. "What did you do to your phone? I got so worried when your GPS marker disappeared…"

"Our phones got wet," I explained. "Ziva and I decided to swim in the ocean."

"With your clothes on?"

"Unfortunately yes…Jared Ryan went all suicide bomber on us."

I heard her gasp.

"But we're fine. Just a little shell-shocked."

"I was wondering why you were talking so loud," she said. "And Gibbs and McGee?"

"Were lucky enough to drive up after it happened."

Just then, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a slew of police cars drove up. I said good bye to Abby as Gibbs walked up to the closest car, already pulling out his badge.

McGee handed me a wet rag.

"What's that for?" I asked him, holding it in my hands and looking confused.

"Your head is bleeding."

…

After some fast talking and zero help from Ziva, I managed to get both me and Ziva out of a trip to the hospital. Gibbs settled for the compromise of having Ducky look us over, and thus handed us over to one of the junior police officers, giving the newbie specific instructions to take us to NCIS. Ziva and I sat in the back of the police cruiser as the officer took great liberties with the law, turning on his sirens to disperse traffic a little bit.

I had a sneaking suspicion that it was another one of Gibb's orders.

Neither I nor Ziva talked at all on the way there; we just looked out the window and shivered in our soaking wet clothes. I wished she would talk to me…I was getting worried.

I tried to help her out of the car when we arrived, screeching to a halt in front of NCIS, but she ripped her hand from mine and shrank away, refusing to touch me. I sighed, then lead the way to Autopsy, continuing to hold the wet rag to the cut on my forehead. The newbie cop followed us like a lost puppy…it was both pleasing and annoying. I was pleased at being admired, yet annoyed that he couldn't do it some other time when I was not soaking wet and bleeding.

"Tony, Ziva," Ducky greeted us as we walked in, unsurprised at our condition. Abby must have told him what had happened. "You can change into these, first," he said, giving us each a pair of green scrubs. "Don't want you to catch a cold, now do we?"

Ziva was faster than I was; when I got back from the bathroom she was already there. I guessed she hadn't stuck her head under the automatic hand dryer like I had.

"Sit on the table, Tony," Ducky instructed. "Palmer…"

The autopsy assistant walked over from somewhere. "Palmer!" I said. "You're back."

"Yeah―" was all he managed to get out before he promptly sneezed with enough force to send a rocket to the moon.

"If you give me that cold I will be severely pissed off at you…" I warned. Palmer nodded quickly, and then proceeded to check me over. He inspected the cut on my forehead, using the rag to dab at my head some more. "I don't think you need stitches," he pronounced finally, and just grabbed one of the white strips to hold the cut together, taking way more time than I thought was strictly necessary.

"Can I go back to work now, Florence Nightingale?" I asked. Not waiting for Palmer's answer, I stood up and went over to where Ducky was examining Ziva.

"I'm fine, Ducky," she kept saying.

At least she was a little more talkative. A silent Ziva was a scary Ziva.

"If you say so, my dear," Ducky said finally, finding nothing physically wrong with her. I was pleased with this…I had protected her so well that she wasn't even hurt. "You two can go up and sit in the squad room if you want, but I would suggest taking it easy for the rest of the day," the ME said. "I knew this one chap back in Europe that survived being blown up by hiding in a refrigerator―"

"Like in Indiana Jones," I put in, unable to help myself.

"―And when he came out he wasn't event the least bit affected by shell shock. It was very mysterious…but then we found him two hours later, dead from a hyper-accelerated heart rate. I said to myself then that―"

I didn't hear the rest; I was following Ziva out to the elevators.

"Are you going to speak to me?" I asked her when the doors had shut.

She was silent, and I waited for a response. Any kind of response.

Nothing.

"Damn it, Ziva," I said, getting frustrated. "Something is bothering you! Why won't you tell me what it is?"

Still no answer. When the doors opened, she walked out quickly, heading straight for her desk. I caught up to her before she could sit down and grabbed her arm, turning her to face me. I knew I was probably risking death with this action, but at the moment I didn't really care.

"What the hell is up with you?" I demanded.

"It's none of your business, Tony," she snapped back. Good. Talking was good, even if it was anger. I could deal with anger a lot better than silence.

"When you look upset it makes it my business," I retorted. Couldn't she see that? Couldn't she see that everything she did affected me, no matter how small it was? When she was happy, I was happy. When she was sad, I was sad. When she looked broken like this, I had the overpowering need to fix her, to do anything for her…and she had no idea. This was fucking torturing me.

"Why did you save me, Tony?" she asked me quietly, eyes flashing.

_Because I love you, that's why. _

That's what I wanted to say. Those were the words that were coming up, right now. But they stuck in my throat, blocking it off, refusing to come out. I couldn't say it. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I was surprised that she couldn't hear me screaming it inside my head, trying to force the words into existence. So instead, the words reassembled themselves into a form that was easier to say.

"Why do you think?" I whispered instead.

_That was a hint. Get the hint. Read my mind. Do your crazy Mossad ninja Jedi mind power tricks on me or something. You know me. I can't say it. I can't…._

We remained frozen there for who knows how long. I stared into her eyes, trying to find something in there that would tell me why she was acting so strange, but I found nothing. She had put up a wall, and there was no getting through it.

I realized with a start that this was the second time Ziva had ended up in my arms today…there was definitely something strange going on. I waited for her to move, to shift out of my arms and take her usual step back, but she didn't. We just stood there, in the middle of the office.

The urge to do something extremely unintelligent came over me then. Usually my common sense kept me from doing idiotic things like attempting to kiss assassins, but apparently my brain was on vacation. It was gone without even leaving a note, or a warning, or something to give me a heads up to be careful about finding myself in stupid situations.

I leaned forward ever so slightly, and so did Ziva. I saw her eyes close and we both stopped breathing.

Pausing inches away, I attempted to assess the situation I had just currently landed myself in, and I decided that I should just go ahead and risk it. If I was going to be killed for this, then at least I would die happy. That's what everyone wants, right? Dying of happiness?

If I didn't do it soon, then I was going to lose my self control. I was never one to go at this slow.

I asked myself if I felt lucky.

Maybe.

But, then again, I was no Clint Eastwood…no matter how many times I might tell my mirror otherwise.

I leaned closer, eager, breathless, and nervous as hell.

"Hey, guys, I have something super important to tell you!" Abby burst in, completely and totally killing the mood.

_God damn it. _

Ziva reacted first; she jumped and instantly there was six feet of space between us. The gothic scientist barreled into the squad room, completely oblivious to what she had just interrupted.

"Gibbs!" she asked, apparently needing to talk to him too, and only able to put together monosyllabic requests.

"He's at the crime scene, Abby," I told her.

"Am I, DiNozzo?"

_Damn._

_Fuck._

_Shit._

I turned around slowly to see Gibbs leaning against the shoulder high divider that separated Ziva's desk space from the main walkway. She and I had been so intent on each other that we hadn't even noticed he was standing there.

And from the raised eyebrow look McAmused was giving me, I would bet my entire salary that they had been there much longer than I'd been fervently hoping.

"You got a lead yet, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked me, walking up and smacking me upside the head with a rolled up newspaper much harder than usual.

"Working on it, boss," I said quickly, going to my desk.

"I can see that."

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs," Abby said quickly, walking up to him. "I think I have something!"

"You _think, _Abs?"

"Um, I mean I _do_…I mean I got a match on the fingerprints lifted from Baker's house―"

"And?"

"Will you let me finish, Gibbs?" Abby protested. "And I got a match on Jared Ryan."

"The guy who blew himself up this afternoon." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah…him. Apparently the fact that he turned out to be a suicide bomber wasn't too far-fetched." She clicked a button on the remote to the plasma and five pictures appeared on the screen. I got up from my desk to get a closer look. "He has been seen in the company of these people, who are―"

"On the Watch List," Gibbs finished for her.

"Yeah."

"That's not good…" McGee murmured.

"Thanks for the valuable input there, McObvious," I said. "What do we do now, boss?"

"Well, not much until we get something else that ties to the dead Marine wives in the basement," he replied.

"Maybe Anderson and Baker―"

"I'm not done!" Abby interrupted again. She clicked another button. "This, was found by the LEO's after you left."

A fuzzy picture was blown up to the size of the screen. Even though it was horribly pixilated, the point of the picture was clear. It was chunks of the warehouse wall, burned and charred from the explosion, and it looked like someone had put them together like puzzle pieces. The weird part was that there was red letters painted on them.

"It's a hit list," Ziva said quietly.

"Apparently it was painted on the inside of the wall," Abby said. "I did a search on the names I could read, and most of them are in the databases for arms dealing. The ones that aren't dead are in prison. I think they're on this list because―"

"Whoever these people are, they don't want them talking to the government," Gibbs completed for her.

"And there's one more thing…" Abby clicked the remote again and zoomed into a section in the middle. "NCIS Special A-G-E," she said. "I would bet my whole salary that last word is Agent."

It was deadly quiet in the bullpen.

"The question is…which one?"

* * *

**SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 6x04 BELOW. FYI. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUU...**

**So how great was Heartland? I LOVED the fact that they were all surprised to find out that Gibbs actually came from somewhere. **

**Also McGee's face when he walked in to find Gibbs sweeping. Haha...**

**And at the end, where awkward younger Gibbs was talking to Shannon? That was so sweet! OMG I loved young Gibbs... XD I guess we should have known that she was the start of the 'rules'. **

**But I think my favorite part was when we find out that Gibbs' father finished building the car he had started on, and did it just how Gibbs wanted it. And then watching Tony's face when they sped past him? Hee hee...I bet he enjoyed that A LOT. **


	6. Say You Need Me

**Okay sorry about the total slacking on the updating this time. I blame my Calculus teacher. That class seriously sucked out my soul. (I had a test today...not pretty.) I'm sure those of you who've had Calc will understand the feeling. **

**So i watched Phantom of the Opera over the weekend. I had one of the songs stuck in my head, and it had been so long since I'd seen the movie (probably when it came out in theaters in 2004...) that I couldn't remember which song it was. And now, because I'm just so super awesome, I have ALL the songs stuck in my head, rambling about in the spaces of my brain normally reserved for ridiculous things like homework. **

**"Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast the point of noooooooooo retuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrnnn..." **

**Yeah. That was me singing just then. You know you liked it. Don't lie. **

**ANYWAY...Spoilers (as usual) for the most recent episode, Nine Lives, at the bottom. You know the drill. And for another warning: I go on and on about it too. Be prepared for an onslaught of my ridiculous fangirlishness should you choose to read it. **

* * *

We all stood in the squad room and stared at the screen.

"I hate it when this happens," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else, because it usually meant that Gibbs would switch into over-protective mode and I would have to sleep in the office. Again.

Guess it was a good thing that I kept a pillow and a change of clothes in my desk.

"No one leaves tonight," Gibbs ordered, turning to us, "Until we find out more. That means you too, Abby."

I sighed. DiNozzo the All-Knowing Future Seer is right once again.

"But Gibbs," Abby protested. "I'm not a Special Agent."

He fixed her with one of his stares, and she backed off with a quiet "…but that doesn't matter because I'm doing what you say anyway…"

"Great. I love sleepovers," I said sarcastically, sitting down resignedly at my desk.

"What was that, DiNozzo?" Boss demanded.

"Uh…I just said that I'm going to start making a list of possible suspects."

"Based on what, exactly?"

"Known grudges against NCIS?"

"I don't have the time to investigate the entire FBI, CIA, and the rest of the alphabet soup," Vance put in.

Stop the presses! The Director made a joke.

I resisted the urge to comment on that.

"Start a list, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "David, McGee...help him."

And then he left, following Vance to his office, most likely to start and argument on who's kept in the loop and blah blah blah. The usual. I sat down at my desk and began typing.

"How many have you got?" McGee asked me after about ten minutes.

"Twenty five," I responded promptly.

"How'd you get twenty five so fast? I've only got seven."

"I'm the Senior Field Agent, McLoser. I've had more practice at deducing the criminal nature of those who would attempt to―" I jumped as Ziva suddenly appeared behind me. "I hate it when you do that," I snapped, trying not to hyperventilate like an idiot when I smelled her perfume and felt her presence as she leaned over my shoulder.

"These are all the names on the NCIS Most Wanted wall!" she accused, comparing the names on my computer with the names on the pictures across the squad room. "And here I was thinking you were actually getting something done."

"I did!" I protested. "It takes a lot of work to see over there."

She smacked me upside the head then, and get this: I did nothing. I didn't protest, I didn't give her any crap about how she couldn't do that because she wasn't Gibbs. I just took it. I could tell it off-put her just a tiny bit, and catching the Mossad assassin off guard upped my self esteem a little more than was necessary.

…

Six hours later, we still had nothing. Gibbs was pissed off more so than usual. I was a little on edge too; we were researching a terrorist threat and we had no leads other than parts of a blown-up warehouse wall. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration for the umpteenth time that night, glancing once again at the clock. It was almost ten.

I need coffee.

I stood up and walked, intending to walk to the coffee machine, but I never got there. My feet took me to the elevator, telling my brain to push the button that would take me down.

Where the hell was I going? Abby was sitting in a chair doing geek stuff with McElf Lord, so what was I going down to the basement for?

The answer became apparent when I found myself stepping into Autopsy, the swishing of the automatic doors alerting Ducky to my presence.

"Hello, Tony," the ME greeted, pulling off a pair of bloodstained gloves and tossing them in the trashcan. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

I opened my mouth, trying to figure out an answer to the question.

"Ah, I see," Ducky said, smiling. "You don't know why you're here?"

"I needed to escape for a while," I replied finally. "Gibbs is going crazy."

"I take it you haven't found any leads yet."

"No," I sighed. "And I'm exhausted."

"You have gone through some pretty significant emotional trauma, haven't you?"

"Nearly getting blown up this morning has rattled my nerves a bit, yeah."

"But that's not all that's bothering you." It wasn't a question.

"There's no secrets from you, is there?" I said, sitting down on an empty operating table. "I suppose I'm going to be psychologically dissected now…"

"I delight in the challenge that is your mind, Tony," Ducky replied with a smile. "Would you like some more advice?"

I leaned back and closed my eyes, lying on the hard, metal table. "Yes," I whispered. "And before you ask, I haven't told her―"

There was a swish as the doors pulled back, and Palmer walked in, humming to himself. I stopped talking immediately. The Autopsy Gremlin was not known for keeping secrets well. However, he seemed to know that he was walking in on something, and I saw his eyes flicker to me lying on the table to Ducky sitting in the chair he had pulled up.

"Oh, don't mind me," he said, smiling and walking over to his desk on the other side of the room. I followed him suspiciously with my eyes.

"What was I saying?" I asked Ducky after a moment, the emotional pain I was experiencing temporarily eclipsing my unease at having an eavesdropper.

"You haven't told…this person…what you need to tell…them?" he supplied, acknowledging on the fly my wordless request at establishing anonymity.

"Right…" I murmured. "It's too hard to find the words."

"A situation not uncommon for this sort of thing."

"I mean, there are times when I feel like just shouting it, just to get it out," I said. "But of course that would be weird and crazy. Stuff like this needs to be planned…words need to be thought about and perfected…"

"It's not a proposal, Tony," the ME said.

"I know…but you understand how strange this is for me. I'm in unexplored waters here."

"The best way to familiarize yourself with new territory is to explore it."

"But…every time I think I might have an opportunity, something gets in the way. Like earlier today, upstairs, when Zi―" I broke off, remembering Palmer was just a short distance away, filling out paperwork. "When I nearly had a…a…desirable experience with a certain previously mentioned someone, before it was interrupted by Abby. And now we're back to the way we were. Again." I sighed. "I'm totally lost here, Ducky."

"I think, Tony, that you may need some help in finding your way," he said cryptically.

I sat up. "What do you mean?" I asked, utterly confused. Were we still using the exploring analogy? _Was_ it an analogy? Or is my ability to interpret conversations normally permanently marred? I suddenly felt a weird sense of being back in grade school and reading perverted things into normal sentences just so '_that's what she said_' could be tacked on.

"It seems to me that circumstances are not setting themselves up to your advantage."

"That much is obvious. The world hates me."

"You really should talk to Gibbs about this."

"Talk to me about what, Ducky?" my boss asked, striding into Autopsy, coffee in hand.

"The, uh…fact that I'm sick, boss," I said, coughing a little to add some drama to my act. "I should go home before I infect anyone. In fact, it might be the plague acting up―it can come back years later, you know―so I was thinking that I should actually just head on over to Bethesda and…" I trailed off into silence as I fell victim to The Stare. "Shutting up, boss," I said meekly.

"No one leaves NCIS," Gibbs said. "Ducky's right there if you're actually sick later."

This was one of the very few times in my life where I _hadn't_ secretly wished Gibbs had been my father. I would never have gotten away with the "faking sick" routine. Score one for the real deal…that was a first.

I got off the table and headed back upstairs, only to run into Abby and McGee on my way into the elevator.

"Ow…" I moaned as two people collided with me and sent me crashing to the floor.

"Oh gosh, sorry Tony!"

"Tony, are you okay?" came Abby's and McGee's hurried apology.

I was silent for a moment as I tried to ignore the protests from the bruises I had received earlier that day. "Yeah…I'm fine," I said, biting back a snappy retort; remembering that the Geek Squad was not the source of my troubles.

"Go lay down in my lab," Abby instructed.

I stared at her as McClumsy helped me up off the floor. "Where?" I asked. "On the tile floor? I think Ducky's tables are more comfortable."

"I have a fold-out cot. In my office. Behind the cabinets."

"A cot?" I asked incredulously.

"It comes in handy on overnight stays like these."

"Abby…" I said seriously, putting my hands on her shoulders. "You are officially my new best friend." She grinned, and followed McGee into Autopsy.

As I walked over to the Lab of Abby, I realized that I didn't even think to ask _why_ they were in such a hurry. The thought didn't bother me too much…if they had found something important then Gibbs would call and tell me about it.

Ten minutes ago, I would have welcomed the activity. But, as I unfolded the cot and pushed it up against the cot-sized gap in the wall of Abby's office, the thought of moving was incredibly abhorrent. I was so tired that even the half-an-inch thick mattress wannabe felt like feathers. I sighed and rested a hand over my eyes, shielding them from the fluorescent lights above I had forgotten to turn off.

…

I hadn't realized I had fallen asleep until I was woken up.

_That was something to file under 'Irony'._

Keeping my hand over my eyes, I tried to figure out what had disturbed me. Abby and McGee coming into the lab, perhaps? No…there were no voices. Maybe it was one of Abby's machines, beeping away to let someone know of its findings. But I heard no beeping.

So I adjusted myself on the cot again and tried to fall back asleep. That is, until the voice that was always in my daydreams (and nightmares) rang in my ears.

"I am sorry…I did not mean to wake you," Ziva said softly.

I opened my eyes and sat up, blinking as they adjusted to the light again. "No, it's okay," I said, tempted to reach out a hand and pull her closer. "I wasn't really sleeping."

"Abby said you were in here…I did not realize you were asleep," she said quietly, taking a step back.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Back upstairs. It can wait."

"I won't be able to sleep now, regardless of whether I was doing so before you came or not. I'll be wondering what you need, and eventually I'll end up coming back upstairs. And if I do that, someone might see me and I'll actually have to work. So you might as well tell me now."

I could see her debating about it, her mind churning behind her chocolate brown eyes. One of my earlier pleas to get her to speak to me came floating back through my memory.

"_You'll say you don't want to talk about it, but your eyes won't shut up."_

Her eyes were a mystery for me; they were like little brief windows into her soul. For tiny fractions of seconds I could almost see what she was feeling behind her carefully composed exterior of scary lethal assassin-ness.

"I―" she started, then broke off. "I have something to tell you."

Wordlessly, I held out my hand, offering it to her and gesturing for her to take a seat on the other half of the cot. When our hands touched I had the irrational feeling that I should never let go.

How strange.

"Now, what did you need me for?" I asked quietly.

"I came to apologize," she said finally, staring at our entwined fingers, though she (thankfully) did not release them.

"For what, exactly?"

"I haven't been exactly fair to you today. You saved my life, and I haven't thanked you for it yet."

"And you will never need to," I said seriously.

"But I do," she insisted. "Thank you."

We were silent then; unanswered questions needing to be asked on both sides. I wondered if now would be the opportune time to let Ziva know what I…But I couldn't say anything. I was too much of a coward to divulge what I was feeling before attempting suicide first. Sticking pins in my eyes would be less painful. So what did that say? That I would rather be blind than tell Ziva I love her? That didn't seem right to me. If it was love, then wouldn't I just want to say it all the time? That's what they did in movies. Love overcame all obstacles; that's what we had been taught since we saw Snow White as children. In this situation, however, it just seemed like it was going to make things worse and more tangled than before.

"I was out of line today, and I am really sorry," she continued, interrupting my thought process. "This morning brought back some…tough memories."

Brushing her hair out of her face seemed like the right thing to do just then, so I did it. My fingers ran from her hairline to behind her ear, securing the flyaway locks. I had to remember to breathe as she involuntarily leaned into my hand and closed her eyes.

"Ziva…" I whispered. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" I said. "That's what I'm here for."

She opened her eyes and stared straight at mine. It was an intense moment; I felt like she was staring right inside me. It was very piercing and invasive, but I welcomed it. It was an unseen contact that I'd never felt before, and it was strange for something so passionate to take place with the physical contact being so minimal.

"I know," she replied softly. "But not now."

I sighed. Of course she would say that. I prepared myself for the inevitable pulling-away that was sure to come, readying my soul for the wrenching painfulness that letting go of her would bring.

But, being Ziva, she surprised me yet again my moving closer. "Can you just hold me, Tony?" she asked, her voice lower than a whisper.

What was this? Ziva David craving human contact? I decided instantly not to question it, but to seize on this opportunity that had so fortuitously landed in my lap.

"Of course," I said, wrapping one hand around her shoulders and pulling her close, the other still holding hers.

She didn't cry; that would have been very unZiva-ish. And it was a good thing too…I didn't have much experience with crying women. It was another one of those things that I tended to avoid. We just sat on Abby's cot for an uncounted number of minutes.

"_Say you need me with you here beside you, anywhere you go let me go too…"_

The endless eternity that was packed into that moment seemed to make the night longer, and as I held Ziva, feeling the steady rising and fall of her chest as she breathed, I realized that I was still tired.

I _had_ been nearly blown up this morning. It had been a busy day.

But sleep was a need I could not deny, no matter how much I wanted to stay awake. It was obvious that Ziva would leave as soon as she figured out I was no longer conscious, and that was something I didn't want to happen. Not yet. I wanted to stay in this embrace for as long as I could before we went back to normal again; hopefully the memory of this would be enough to get me through until the day I stopped acting like some dorky kid and confessed my feelings like the adult I knew was inside somewhere.

* * *

**Once again, Spoiler Alert for those of you who didn't notice the warning at the top. **

**...**

**SOOOOOOOOOOOO...I really like yesterday's episode, especially since it included the Tony-Ziva interaction that we've been missing. **

**He was sooo totally bothered by her going to Israel...I thought it was funny how McGee and Gibbs even noticed.**

**AND THEN...I don't know if it was just me who noticed this, but I freaked out when Tony discovered that picture on Ziva's desk. A couple of my friends think it looks like Ari, other friends bring up Michael Rivkin too after we debated and like, paused the video and stared at it upside down and stuff. We had totally forgot about him. We had this weird debate thing earlier today because my group of friends was split down the middle about it. We're just going to wait and see, i guess...we're afraid to try and look it up because we don't want to see any spoilers for anything. **

**And at the end, when Tony said goodbye to her in Hebrew? How sweet was that? **

**There were so many good quotes in that episode too...like the mold porn thing. Haha...**

**If you haven't noticed, I LOVE discussing episodes and stuff. So feel free to tell me about YOUR favorite parts. Any episode. I have seen them all. No lie. **


	7. I Hope It's Not A Dream

**I am sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry that I haven't updated in so long. I feel really bad! But NaNoWriMo and Midterms came up at the same time...and well, it was hard to make time for fanfiction. Sorry again. **

**I updated with this relatively short chapter because I wanted you guys to have _something_. And I promised Bundibird that I would...and I try to uphold promises! **

**I was so excited about all those who wanted to discuss the episode that was like...three weeks ago. That was so exciting! I tried to respond to everyone...but I think I forgot some people. I have worked out a better system for review replies and PMs and awesome discussions, so this time around I will get to everyone! Seriously...episode discussions are one of my favorite things to do. XD**

**And now for this chapter's randomness: I watched Moulin Rouge (2001, Ewan McGregor, Nicole Kidman) today and it was totally just as awesome as the last four million times I watched it. "El Tango de Roxanne" is probably my favorite song in the whole movie. I've always wanted to learn how to tango...but I'm afraid with my lack of sexy moves my potential in that area is quite limited...**

**Oh, and expect kinda slow updates until December, guys....I've got to finish NaNoWriMo and i'm falling behind...!**

* * *

"_TONY!"_

I was startled awake by someone shouting my name in an obscenely loud voice. I sat up quickly and opened my eyes, wondering what in the hell was happening.

Where's the fire?

"I'm in position, boss!" I said automatically, jumping up and looking around wildly.

Then I noticed that I was still in Abby's lab, so I lowered my hands from my assumed karate-chop defensive position. Gibbs was standing in front of me, holding his cup of coffee. Abby was behind him, looking tentatively over his shoulder…probably to see if I would get beaten down or something. I tried to recall the last moments before I fell asleep, because I was a little disoriented.

Oh yeah. Abby let me sleep on her cot.

Ziva came down, and we'd―and I'd held her…comforted her when she needed me to...a grin made its way across my face as I remembered. The one that stood out was in that moment in between sleeping and waking; I was still aware of things but moments from being truly asleep. Ziva had pulled away and gently laid me back on the cot, and I had felt her lips press gently on my forehead.

"Sleep, Tony…" I'd heard her whisper.

And then what seemed like a minute later, Gibbs' voice had woken me up and now here I was, grinning stupidly at my boss, my clothes rumpled and my hair sticking up in crazy directions.

"What the hell's with you, DiNozzo?" he asked me.

"Nothing, boss. Just feeling refreshed, that's all."

"Good. Now you can go back to work." He pointed towards the elevator.

"Yes boss," I said quickly, and headed back upstairs. When I got to the elevator, though, I stopped and turned around, heading back for the lab. "Thanks, Abby," I said, giving the girl a big hug from behind. Gibbs gave me a look, and I let go quickly. "Right. Going upstairs, boss."

The bullpen was practically empty when I walked out of the elevator; its only occupant was McGee, typing methodically away at a pace far below his usual standards.

"Whatcha doing, Probie-san?" I asked him as I walked over to his desk. "You're not up to your usual lightspeed typing."

It took a second for the younger agent to respond. "Unlike you, Tony…not all of us got a three hour nap."

Three hours?

I glanced at the clock on McGee's desk. _2:14 a.m._

Wow. I'd gotten more sleep than I'd thought.

"What are you working on?"

"Same thing that I was when you left."

"There's no new leads? Nothing?" I asked incredulously. "Then what did Gibbs want me up here for?"

"So you can take over for McGee. It's his turn on Abby's cot," Gibbs said, striding in with his ubiquitous coffee cup in his hand.

McGee looked up, hope in his eyes. "Really? I can take a break?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it, McGee," Gibbs said, walking up the stairs to the director's office.

Probie practically jumped out of his seat. "Okay Tony, this is what you have to do…" He did some geek-typing and said some big words that I didn't understand.

"Probie!" I said abruptly, cutting him off mid-lecture. "Pretend you're talking to someone who has no idea what you're saying."

McGee sighed. "When Abby sends you something, run it through this database I modified to fit our search requirements."

He got up to leave. "Wait…" I said, stopping him. "Can't you show me how to do this on my computer?"

"It'll take me three hours just to set it up. You can sit in my desk." And then he disappeared in the elevator.

I sighed, and sat dejectedly in the Probie-desk. This was so demeaning. I could almost feel the newbie-naïveté leeching into me as I touched the keyboard, itching with the uncontrollable need to play something geek-ish like World of Warcraft. I stood up quickly and ran to my desk, pulling open the bottom right drawer. I grabbed my favorite issue of GSM and opened it up to my favorite picture before sitting down again; maybe it would counteract the Probie-ness.

Once I was alone in the office again, my thoughts began to wander. Where was Ziva? I realized that I had forgotten to ask. She was sleeping, probably. Even ninjas need sleep, I guess. I tried not to think about her, because it would almost certainly distract me from the task at hand.

I forced myself to look at the Probie's monitor and not her empty desk across the room. What had the geek told me to do? Oh. Right. I highlighted the search requirements and dragged them to his special database. Some fancy typing and a triumphant hit of the 'Enter' key later, I watched as names scrolled across the screen at lightning speeds.

Ten minutes later, the motion stopped, and I checked it off McGee's extensive list. I looked at the next one and did the same thing.

Drag.

Click.

Type.

Enter.

By the eighth time I had done it, I think my mouth was hanging open as I dumbly watched the whirring motion of the names in the database. No wonder McGee was in a stupor when I'd come up here. And he'd been doing this for three-plus hours? I added that to my list of strange things to admire the Probie for that I'd never tell him about.

Drag.

Click.

Type.

Enter.

Taking a break after the twenty-fifth consecutive time, I rubbed my eyes and yawned. This was going to put me to sleep again. It was almost hypnotic. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the tiredness from my eyes and ran my hands through my hair. I looked around the bullpen again, hoping that this time my eyes scanned the empty office that someone would be around that I could talk to. Relieve the boredom.

I had already expected for there to be no one there when my eyes fell on Ziva's desk, which is why I almost jumped out of my chair when I saw that it was occupied by the beautiful assassin.

"How long have you been there?" I asked her. I hadn't heard her sit down…but then again, I almost never did. "You know how much it freaks me out when you're all sneaky like that."

"Only about five minutes," she said, turning in her chair to put her feet up on her desk―I noticed she was barefoot―and playing with her fingernails. "Did you know that your hair is sticking up?"

I checked my hair in the reflection of McGee's computer. "Yeah," I said, turning quickly back to her, making no attempt to fix it. "I'm going for a new style."

She smiled a little, and regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "Why are you sitting at McGee's desk?"

"I graciously decided to give Probie a break. So I'm just continuing where he left off."

"Doing what, exactly?"

I thought about this for a moment. "I have absolutely no idea," I said truthfully, staring at the screen.

She got up from her desk and walked towards me. Her shirt was unbuttoned one lower than was considered appropriate for work, and her hair was spilling down across one shoulder.

"Did you get a nap too?" I asked her, using all my will power to keep my eyes on her face and not…lower.

She nodded. "I was talking to Ducky after you fell asleep and he let me borrow one of his autopsy tables."

"That doesn't sound too comfortable."

"Well, when you're tired it doesn't matter," she responded, putting her hands on the top of the desk and leaning over. "That's a nice picture. It's a shame that ninety-five percent of it is computerized."

"Why must you destroy all my illusions?"

She leaned over further; she was taunting me. I could tell.

I wasn't going to do it. I kept my eyes on her face. I knew that if I flicked my eyes down her shirt for half a split second she would notice. There was a moment of silence as we kept our eyes locked. It seemed that neither one of us wanted to break the contact.

"What did you talk to Ducky about?" I asked her quietly.

She leaned forward. "Things," she responded in a whisper. "It's not important."

"Really?" I decreased the distance between by a couple of inches. "What kind of things?"

"None of your business."

I smiled. "Is it really none of my business, or is it and you just don't want to tell me?"

"A little of both, maybe," she responded cryptically. "But I am still not going to tell you."

And then we were in the situation again, the one we were in earlier today. Er…actually it was yesterday. But, thankfully, Gibbs was currently entangled in a pissing match with Vance, so the chance of getting interrupted was very slim. I leaned a little closer and I think I forgot to breathe. How idiotic was that? I'm a grown man. I've done this _loads_ of times.

Right?

Then why did I feel so on fire each time she was this close? What the hell did that mean?

We were so close now that there was no space between our lips, but we were just far enough away for the tension between us to build up to impossible levels.

"What are we doing, Tony?" Ziva asked me, very voice barely a whisper and her lips brushing against mine ever so slightly as she spoke.

I must admit that I wasn't prepared at all for it. I had been expecting to be interrupted for sure…Gibbs would have known this was coming via his sixth sense and therefore strode into the squadroom at the exact wrong time, ruining the moment that I'd been wanting for so long. And since the buildup was so long and tantalizing, that gave him extra time.

But he didn't come, and our lips met.

I'd kissed her before, about four years ago on that one under cover assignment. But this was way different…there was nothing like kissing someone that you loved so completely. It was insane, like magic, or something mystical and out of this world. There was nothing I could compare it to. Ziva brought up one hand and I felt it caress my face gently, her fingers trailing down my cheek. We broke apart briefly and kissed again. It was one of those endless moments that seem to contain an entire lifetime inside them. I lived, died, and lived again in the space of second. It was very simple compared to the amount of sexual energy behind it, but the need to rip her clothes off was not on the forefront of my mind.

How strange.

I could smell something wonderful coming off her skin.

The only reason I broke away was because the need to breathe was about one percent stronger than my need to continue kissing Ziva. But, as I leaned forward to capture her lips again, McGee's damn infernal computer started going haywire.

I looked at it angrily, wondering what could possibly be so important that the stupid machine had to go messing up what was turning out be the―

"What is it, Tony?" Ziva asked, coming around the edge of the desk to look over my shoulder as I stared at the screen.

"McGee's special database got a hit…or four," I replied. "He didn't tell me what to do if the dragging and the clicking actually came up with something."

"Type the names in the international database," she suggested. "That will tell us who they are."

"Why the international?"

"Does 'Amil Abdul-Jahar' sound American to you?"

She was a lot closer than usual; it was a good sign. It helped me fantasize under the delusion that kissing her seconds ago wasn't just a dream; that it actually happened.

"Ah. Right." I did what she said, and a few seconds and some flashing computer whizzing lights later, names popped up, covered in red print and government warnings. I read the descriptions with an uneasy feeling.

"_Oh shit…" _I thought, as Ziva swore in Hebrew under her breath.

* * *

**So yeah. I left you hanging. Don't worry...I've left myself hanging too. I have no idea what Tony and Ziva just discovered. When i figure it out I'll type it up and post the next chapter...**

**Are you excited, though? Tony and Ziva finally kissed. Yay! Now, if only they would get one with it in the show...**

**Feel free to review if you want to discuss this weeks episode, last weeks episode, any episode from the past six years...or if you just want to yell at me for not updating in a timely fashion...**


	8. The Basement

**I KNOW it's been like, FOREVER AND A HALF since I updated this. And I'm really really sincerely sorry. I was...er, _am_ having some personal issues concerning me and this guy I know. It's like this deal where we're both like, obsessed and in love with each other (according to a mutual friend of ours), but neither of us can say anything about it. Add that on top of my social awkwardness and inability to carry on a proper conversation with him and you have emotional suicide and frustration. So that meant that I couldn't write ANYTHING. I was mentally blocked. It was terrible. **

**but I pushed my way through it, and somehow ended up with this crappy chapter of nothingness. It's really just a filler for the big event that's about to happen (which I already have written, so you won't have to wait too long) so I apologize for its boring and terrible quality. **

**Oh, and also keep in mind that the way i had things planned in the story had something to do with Agent Lee, so right now I'm going to have to ask you to overlook the real plotline concerning her for the time being. **

**And sorry about the personal rant at the top. I promise not to do it too often. **

* * *

"Boss!" I yelled, throwing myself from behind the desk and vaulting towards the stairs. "Gibbs!" I tripped as I tried to jump more stairs than was physically possible in my haste. The names had brought up something so major, so out of my league that I had no idea how to handle it. After a few seconds of disbelieving, paralyzing shock, only one thought crossed my mind.

Gibbs.

"Tony!" Ziva called, and I could hear her following me. "Tony!"

I ran upstairs and burst into the Director's office, not caring how much trouble I would get in.

"Boss!" I shouted, running, wide-eyed, through the door. Vance and Gibbs both stared at me, probably wondering what in the hell I must have been smoking earlier. I knew I probably looked like a mad man with my rumpled and disheveled look and my crazed expression. Ziva came in right behind me, and I felt her run into my back and grab my arm to prevent herself from falling as she ran into me.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs said, walking over to me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Got a hit, boss!" I said.

"On what?"

"You know that thing you told me to do so McGee could take a break and stuff after you woke me up―"

"Yeah."

"I was narrowing down names and eventually got four hits."

"I suggested running them through the international database," Ziva interjected. "And what came up was not anything we expected."

"Well…?"

"You're going to have to come down and see," I said. "We have it down on the plasma."

I ran back down the stairs, followed closely by Ziva. It occurred to me as I was leaping over the railing at the bottom of the stairs that it would have been much easier just to _call_ Gibbs, but I dismissed the thought. I just needed to get him down here.

"Amil Abdul-Jahar: A wanted terrorist suspected in several bombing threats in the past four years," I introduced, bringing up the man's picture with a click of the remote. "Never been brought in because no evidence could be linked to him. Last seen in the vicinity of Washington D.C."

"Address?"

"It's a fake," Ziva said. "It comes up as the middle of a field about ten miles outside of town."

Gibbs was silent.

"Do you want us to go check it out?"

"Not until we know more about this guy. Where's McGee?"

"Still sleeping, probably. Do you want me to get him?"

"Let him sleep a while. There's nothing-"

"Um…excuse me?"

Every single one of us in the room turned and looked towards the source of the tentative voice. To my surprise, Palmer, who was changed out of his teal green scrubs and looking like he was on his way out the door. He seemed very agitated and nervous, more so than usual.

"What is it, Palmer?" Gibbs asked, irately, pissed at being interrupted.

"Er…sorry…" the autopsy assistant stammered. "But I was just w-won-wondering if any of you had heard from…from…Michelle? Er…I mean, Agent L-L-Lee…?"

None of us could answer at first, taken aback by the randomness of the question.

"_Why?_" Gibbs asked.

"Um, well, I just noticed that she left all her stuff," he said.

"So?"

"Er, so I called her to tell her that and she's not picking up her phone. And she always picks up her phone."

"She'll come back and get it later, Palmer," Gibbs said.

"Um, Agent Gibbs?"

"_Yes?_"

"That was three days ago."

_That_ was unusual, even for Lee the Lawyer. So I did some fancy typing that I had seen McGee do hundreds of times and tried to locate the GPS on her cell phone. It took me a lot longer than it would have for McTracker, but I got the job done, and soon a flashing red indicator came up on the map.

"Well, that's a freaking weird coincidence," I said, dumbstruck as I saw where Lee's cell came up on the map.

"There's no such thing as coincidences, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, turning around to face the screen. "What's going on here?"

"Well, Gibbs," Ziva said. "Lee's GPS chip just turned up at the exact address we found ten minutes ago for the suspected terrorist."

Gibbs stared at the map for a very long second. "Wake up McGee," he said briskly. "Fill him in. Meet me in the car."

"Yes, boss," I said, getting up hurriedly form McGee's desk and walking fast towards the elevator that would take me down to Abby's lab, Ziva hot on my heels.

…

"Can someone explain to me again why this suspected terrorist is not yet behind bars?" Gibbs asked as we were cruising down the highway, going ninety miles an hour.

"He was in one photo that also happened to include one of the terrorists that organized the 9/11 attacks in NYC, boss," I said, reading the page I had printed out before we left. "He was held by the FBI for a while, but no one could discover anything to incriminate him besides his terrible choice in friends. Which, unfortunately, is not a crime…"

"So they let him go?"

"Yeah, they let him go back to his house, but every once in a while a team visits to check up on him."

Gibbs made a hard right turn off the interstate, and Ziva slammed into me. "You'll wanna take another right up here on 32nd street, boss," McGee said from the front seat.

A few blaring car horns and several near-accidents later, we came to a screeching halt outside of a run-down looking house covered in peeling white paint that sat in the middle of a field. A couple of the fake decorative shutters were crooked and falling down, and the grass was uncut. There was no car in the driveway, and there was a pile of old, yellowing, newspapers on the front porch. The only thing to suggest that someone actually lived here was the fact that the little red flag was up on the mailbox by the curb.

We all quietly got out of the car, guns held low and at the ready, yet carefully hidden so no one peeking out the curtains could see.

"McGee, David…back door," Gibbs said in a low whisper, gesturing with his hands towards the gate that led to the backyard. After a brief glance and the pang of separation from Ziva, I followed Gibbs onto the porch, trying hard not to step too hard on the creaky wood.

"In position, boss," came McGee's voice through the earpiece.

"Okay…now."

And all four of us burst through the doors, shouting various versions of 'Stop!' and 'Federal Agents!',

There was no one around. The house was empty. McGee and Ziva came in through the kitchen, and Gibbs and I cleared the rest of the floor. In the silence that then ensued we heard nothing. Not a scrape over the floorboards as someone tried to discreetly shift their position in their hiding place, or the metallic click of the safety on a gun. Nothing.

Ziva ran her finger over the surface of the counter in the kitchen and held it up for us to see. "Dust," she pronounced. "It seems that no one has been here for quite some time."

"Look around for anything suspicious," Gibbs ordered curtly, probably pissed that he didn't get to shoot anyone. So we all spread out, and I had the difficult task of balancing that order with the sudden, driving need to stay close to Ziva. Flashes of the kiss―that I still had trouble convincing myself actually _happened_―was taking up most of my brain. They were so vivid; I could almost feel her lips on mine again.

And then she was in front of me. "Tony!" she said sharply, snapping her fingers in my face. "You are day dreaming."

I shook my head, dispersing the images. "Right. Sorry." I continued on my inspection of the east wall, and Ziva walked back across the room back towards the kitchen. A noise in the wood, however sounded an alarm in the back of my head.

"Wait…Ziva," I said, turning around. "Do that again."

"Do what again?"

"That thing you just did."

"Snap in your face?"

"No, walk across the floor."

She gave me a raised-eyebrow, curious look, but did as I asked. The floor creaked under her feet, but at a certain spot in the center of the room there was a distinct tone difference. Ziva noticed it too when the floor suddenly echoed.

"It's hollow under there," I said. "But why?"

"Trapdoor?" she suggested, and we both bent down to the floor. And there, sure enough, was the faint, pencil-thin outline of a cut-out square in the middle of the room. Ziva blew the dust away, and the outline became clearer.

"Gibbs!" I called quietly. "We got something."

He and McGee came striding in. "How do we get it open?" McQuestions asked as Gibbs ran his fingers over the wood. Boss said nothing, except to pull a crowbar from out of nowhere. He shoved it into one of the cracks and pulled upward, and with a rending sound of splintering wood, the trapdoor came up, pulling with it the remains of the lock that had kept it closed from underneath. We all waited with baited breath to see if bullets would come ripping out of the darkness, but there was still silence. It was a lot scarier than actually being shot at.

As usual, after a minute or so, Gibbs went down first, treading softly on the wooden stairs that had been revealed. I went next, gun up and ready, Ziva and Probie following close behind. It was dark in this creepy basement, the only light coming from the little amount of early morning sunshine coming through the hole that we had just created.

When we hit the bottom, Gibbs flipped on his flashlight. A basement was revealed, but there was nothing in the main room except doors. No people…no remains of people…no threats of blowing something up in red paint on the wall. I half expected to see a foosball table tucked in a corner.

"I'm confused, boss," I whispered.

"Shut up, DiNozzo."

Intense silence reigned again, and I concentrated on Ziva's breathing. Softly, in and out. In and out. And then Gibbs raised up one hand and pointed to one of the doors. I thought it might have been his sixth sense cropping in again…or his x-ray vision.

A muffled sound was coming through, very faint, and very tired sounding. Gibbs crept soundlessly towards it and tried the handle. Locked. He then gave me a look. The I-want-to-see-behind-this-door look. I stepped up, and with one swift motion, kicked the door in.

You would think that with the line of work we pursued that we would get used to freaky asshole terrorists creeping us out. But no.

Agent Lee was on her knees in the middle of the closet, her hands and feet tied, as well as a gag in her mouth. She looked beaten and malnourished; her hair lay lank and greasy on the sides of her face, her makeup in dried up streaks on her cheeks and her clothes ripped and dirty. On the wall behind her, in a sickening color of red, were the words:

"_Hello, Agent Gibbs."_

* * *

**As usual, I am always up for a episode discussion! What did you think about Lee and that craziness? And the rumors about the Christmas episode coming up in a couple weeks? Favorite Tony-Ziva moment so far this season? **

**And am I the only one who thinks that Palmer's hotness is underappreciated? (I'm so excited for the rerun of About Face...yay for the only Palmer-centric episode!)**


	9. The Brightness of the Stars

**So I apologize for a atrocious lack of updating. I sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Finals. And then vacation. That's all I have to say. **

**ANYWAY...Here's a chapter. And it's kinda exciting. I hope you like it. **

**You'll hate the end, but you'll be glad to know that I have the next chapter written already! BUT..it's handwritten in my notebook between all my Calculus notes. So it'll take some serious craziness to decipher my terrible handwriting. **

**In any case, rest assured the wait will not be as long as before. :D**

**Oh yeah. I'm reminding you of the detail that I had planned out this story before we knew the deal with Michelle, so the part with her isn't going to be strictly in sync with the show. I'm using my artistic license. **

* * *

**Chapter 9**

After we all stood there and took in the sight before us, shock in all our expressions, Gibbs walked quickly forward and untied Michelle.

"What happened?" he demanded, yet not unkindly. "Who are these people?"

She just shook her head and didn't say anything, her chest heaving as she struggled to control her breathing. Ziva knelt down beside the frightened lawyer and pulled a first aid kit out of her backpack, proceeding to wipe away the blood off her forehead.

"Damn it, Michelle..." Gibbs said. "We know they're terrorists. We know they were the ones who had Jared Ryan blow up the warehouse. What are they planning?"

"I don't know," she whimpered after a moment. "I've been down here for two days and haven't seen anyone, and none of them spoke English."

"Do you what language it was?"

She shook her head again. "No. But it did sound kind of Middle Eastern. I always get them mixed up..."

"How did you get here?" Gibbs pressed on with his questions.

"I received a call from them at work, telling me to…to…" Michelle broke off, overcome for a moment by a fit of coughing. "They told me that I had to produce some file for them or…or…" She broke off then and looked to the floor in what seemed like embarrassment. It made me wonder what in the hell she had to be embarrassed about at a time like this.

"Or what?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"Or they would kill Jimmy," she whispered. That took me a minute to process; so I guess she and Palmer were still doing some under-cover-after-hours investigating. I wondered why I hadn't picked up on it in a while…was it because of all those months at sea I had lost my ability to pick up on such things? No. Of course not. I suppose they just must have gotten better at hiding the evidence.

"Jimmy?"

"Jimmy Palmer, boss," I clarified, saving Michelle from having to explain. "They have a thing."

"A thing?"

"You know…a thing. Relationship type deal." I was going to use the term 'sex buddies' but didn't think Michelle would appreciate that right now.

Gibbs sighed. I half expected him to whip out his 'Rule Twelve' lecture. I braced myself for it, knowing I would not be able to keep what had happened between me and Ziva a secret if he so much as looked at me. I hated how well he could see into my thoughts like that. But, to my surprise, the sigh was all he did to let us know of his disapproval.

"What did they want?" he continued, getting back to Michelle's story.

"They didn't tell me over the phone," she said. "They hung up after about thirty seconds."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Gibbs said, as per usual.

"They told me not to," Michelle said, and her voice broke in the middle of her sentence. "They knew everything about me, I was afraid they were watching me. They told me to act normal, so I did. I went home on time, like usual, and when I got there four men in masks were waiting in my living room."

She took a deep breath and continued on. "They grabbed me and took me here, asking for inside information. They didn't seem to realize that I was just a lawyer, and that I didn't know anything about the big cases. They asked me a lot about you and seemed to know that I worked for you for a while, but I didn't tell them anything, I swear!"

Tears started flowing again, and Gibbs laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, Michelle," he said. "We'll figure out who did this."

She shook her head. "If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be," she said. "That much I have learned."

"So there is one man in charge?"

She nodded. "I've only seen him once, and the others seem to be afraid of him somehow."

"Name?"

"They call him―"

And then a shot echoed out through the basement, and I felt it rip through the air as the bullet passed too close to my ear. Michelle's head smashed back violently, and blood spattered the back wall, blotting out the 'Hello' in the message for Gibbs in a very Sweeney Toddish way. After the split second it took for all this to happen, and for me to see Michelle's limp body fall to the floor, I turned swiftly around to find the shooter. A shadow at the top of the basement stairs disappeared as I turned. Not even thinking, I immediately chased after the guy, throwing myself up the stairs, my gun up and shouting for the guy to stop.

I could hear the rest of them following me after a moment, and as soon as we all spilled out into the first floor of the house, scrambling through the small trapdoor. Ziva broke away and headed out to cut the shooter off from the outside. I heard running steps in the kitchen and headed that way. McGee and Gibbs headed upstairs as I burst into the kitchen, gun in front of me. The shooter was there.

I brought my gun up and aimed it at him. "Stop, lay down your weapon!" Instead of doing that, the guy brought his gun up too. I sighed, and turned the safety off my gun. I hated shooting people…there was just so much ridiculous paperwork that went with it.

Then there was a thud and the man across the room from me hit the floor. Ziva was revealed, her hand up.

"Thanks," I said, taking the deep breath that I needed.

"No problem," she whispered, rubbing the hand she had punched him with gently.

Gibbs and McGee came into the room then, taking in the sight. Immediately, McGee pulled out his handcuffs and attached the guy securely to the handle of the dishwasher.

"Wake him up," Gibbs ordered, and I pulled one of those harsh smelling things from the first aid kit that the EMT team uses to revive people. With a start, the man jerked up, and his first reaction was to get up and run. But, with one hand attached to the very solid dishwasher, he didn't get very far before he was abruptly yanked back to the floor.

"Release me!" he demanded, his voice carrying a very heavy Middle eastern accent. "You do not know who you are dealing with!"

"Amil Abdul-Jahar?" Gibbs asked.

The man paused for a second, and then began to laugh. "You stupid Americans, always putting your nose in places it does not belong." Gibbs sighed, and then punched the man in the face. Blood trickled down from his nose, and the man continued smiling. "There is nothing you can offer me that will make me talk."

"Who are you working for?" Gibbs demanded, raising a hand in preparation to hit the man again.

"I will not tell you."

Gibbs hit him again. "Who are you working for?" he asked again, shouting this time.

Still no answer.

"Ziva," Boss said wordlessly, making eye contact with her. She nodded, and I saw her pull something sharp and lethal looking from inside her coat and start towards the man sprawled on the floor. He saw what she held, and laughed again.

"You think torture will make a difference?" he asked. "I have been trained against it."

"Let's see how you feel about that when I start taking your fingernails off one by one," Ziva snarled, a light in her eyes I had never seen before. A shiver went down my spine, and I realized that I was about to see her torture someone for the first time. Even though we'd made jokes about it, even though in her every move you could see her lethal potential, I never actually wanted to see it happen. So I turned around, and the man let out a shout scream as Ziva did something unpleasant to him.

"It's too late, anyway," the man gasped, breathing heavy. "The plans that have been set in motion are unstoppable. You cannot triumph this time, Agent Gibbs."

Once again, I surprised at the huge amount of sick terrorists that knew Gibbs by name.

"Why do you say that?" Gibbs asked.

The man was silent, and Ziva decided that was the perfect time to rip off another one of the man's fingernails. He groaned, having not quite mastered the 'suffer in silence' bit. After a moment, he decided to talk. "Plans have been made that, when fulfilled, will wreak havoc and destruction on the American people ten times greater than the attack of September 11th, 2001."

_Damn_. _I hate it when they end up being real terrorists._

"What do we do now, boss?" McGee asked in the general silence that followed this pronouncement.

"We head back to base," he said after a moment. "Pack this guy up and throw him in the backseat between David and DiNozzo."

"Right boss."

"McGee always gets the front seat!" I protested before I could stop the words from coming out of my mouth. Gibbs fixed me with a steely glare, and I quickly backtracked. "Which….sucks for him because the backseat is the best seat. It's where the party's at. Not that…where you're sitting isn't fun, I mean…I just…"

"Just quit while you're ahead, DiNozzo," Gibbs said exasperatedly.

"Yes boss."

Suddenly, and with no warning, about six men burst through the doors and swarmed into the kitchen. The man on the floor began to laugh again as we all pulled our guns up again. Gibbs shot first, and took out two before they began to fire back. Ziva took out a couple more, and the last two ran off. And then I, being the stupid imbecile that I am, ran after them.

I managed to corner one in the bedroom, but as I moved forward, gun still up, trying to get close enough for my gun to touch the back of his head so he would cooperate.

Hindsight being twenty-twenty crystal clear, I realized that I probably should have just backed off. But I didn't. So the terrorist with a gun whirled around and attacked me, hitting me right below my shoulder-collarbone area, right about the same area where Frodo got stabbed by the Witch King in the Fellowship of the Ring movie. A sharp, searing pain accompanied the blow, taking the breath out of me and making me gasp. I did not expect pain of this magnitude to come with a punch, but when I looked down, I saw the hilt of a knife protruding from my chest.

_Damn. _

I heard footsteps in the back of my awareness, pushed to background noise as the pain of being stabbed took up most of my brain.

"Tony!" I heard someone call; it sounded like Ziva.

The man I had attempted to capture grabbed me and spun me around so they could see my face and shouted, "Stop, or the next one is in his heart!"

I saw the shocked faces of Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva, as I looked at them, each one registering the knife.

"No, Tony!" Ziva said, taking an involuntary step towards me. The man holding me grabbed the hilt of the knife in my shoulder and pulled it out roughly. I gasped in pain again, and then stared, wide-eyed, and the hideously long weapon that was colored red with my blood. The moment seemed almost surreal. Blood flowed more easily down my arm than before, drenching my sleeves in its warm stickiness. The knife was the transferred to a position right over my heart, and I could feel the point digging into me.

This was not going to end well.

I raised my eyes from the knife and looked to Ziva. She was staring back at me, fear and worry plain in her eyes. I made eye contact with her, in case the man who now held my life in his hands got overzealous; I wanted her face to be the last thing I saw.

"You will let me leave," the man said. "Or I will kill him. If you come after me, I will kill him. If you try and shoot me, I will kill him. Understood?"

He left no room for negotiation. The man drove a hard bargain.

After a moment or two of Gibbs trying to decide how best to win, he nodded in defeat.

"Weapons over here, please," the man holding me said.

Ziva was the first to throw hers; all seven of them. Two guns, four knives, and that wicked looking hooky thing she used to de-fingernail the guy in the kitchen.

Gibbs and McGee handed their work-issue gun over a second later.

"Excellent. Your cooperation is noted. I might even give Agent…" He leaned forward to check my name tag on my jacket, "…DiNozzo back to you as a reward."

The man slowly began to walk forward, pushing me along with the blade of his knife.

"Be careful!" I said in a scolding tone. "You could seriously hurt someone with that."

I heard Gibbs sigh again, knowing that my smart mouth was going to get me killed. I knew it too, but I didn't have the ability to keep my mouth shut. It was never something I learned properly.

"Stay in the house until you hear us leave," the man ordered.

So I left the house with the guy. My shoulder hurt like hell, and I knew that if they didn't give me some painkillers or something then I would definitely be passing out sometime _really_ soon.

There were two vans waiting for us outside, both identical, right down to the license plate number.

"Get in," the man said, pushing me towards the first one.

I wordlessly did as I was told, seeing no point in resisting. Unless I had a death wish.

Which I didn't.

Far from it, actually. As I remembered kissing Ziva earlier, the will to live had never been stronger. I was shoved into the back of the back of the black van, and the only thing that kept me from passing out from pain as I landed on my injured shoulder was my visions of Ziva dancing in front of my eyes. Ziva laughing, hair in her face, sun on her skin…

There was a man in the back with me, apparently assigned to keep me quiet and under submission. As the van began to move, the man randomly threw a punch in my direction, slamming his fist into the left side of my face. Great. I was overdue for a black eye. It's only been, what, three weeks or so since I'd gotten over my last one? It had been a good one, though…it'd been a long time since my last real bar fight. If I ever made it back to NCIS, I was going to have to thank Vance for all those awesome times as an Agent Afloat.

I felt blood trickling down my chin from the corner of my mouth. Great. Just what I needed; blood loss from another area of my body.

Using my good hand, I slowly widened the hole the knife had made in my shirt, getting blood all over my hands in the process, until I had ripped it all the way around. With a gentle tug, I pulled my shirt sleeve off. I then proceeded to tie it gingerly around my wound, wincing as I went.

"I don't suppose you could help me with this," I asked the guy who had just punched me in the face. He said nothing. Didn't even change expression.

I took that as a 'no'.

We drove for at least forty-five minutes, and the entire drive was nearly silent, punctured only by short, sporadic conversations in what sounded to me like Arabic. But nothing was said in English, and nothing was directed at me, so I spent the majority of the time trying to keep myself from fading into the unconsciousness that I knew was inevitable, considering the amount of blood I'd lost already.

"Where are we going?" I asked finally, well aware that my voice was a pathetic whisper.

"_We _are not going anywhere, Agent DiNozzo," the man who'd stabbed me said, turning around in the front passenger seat to face me. "Your stop is coming up soon, and then my friends and I are heading to our destination."

"Which is?" I asked, knowing full well I wouldn't get a cooperative answer, but feeling the need to try all the same.

The man laughed. "Now, you really didn't think I would tell you, did you?" he said to me. Then he turned in his seat and addressed the driver. "This is far enough."

The van screeched to a halt, and the only thing that saved me from flying through the windshield was the strong hand clasped on my uninjured shoulder. The van door opened

"I believe this is your stop," the man in the front said, and nodded to the man holding onto me, who then promptly threw me out of the van and into the ditch on the side of the road.

I gasped and groaned as I hit the ground and rolled. Pain ricocheted up and down my body. Black spots dotted my vision, then grew to form a darkness on the edges of my vision. With my last conscious thought, my dimming eyes registered the brightness of the stars in the early morning sky.

* * *

**GUESS WHAT? I totally got the fifth season of NCIS for Christmas. Yay meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!**

**Oh yeah....Forgive any mistakes please. I've had the Harry Potter rap stuck in my head for days and it's screwing with my ability to function like a normal human being. **

**Party on, dudes.  
**


	10. And Then I Heard Nothing

**Mmkay. Here we go. Chapter number 10, which I wrote like, two months ago and it's been sitting in my notebook while I've painstakingly worked my way up to it. By no means does this mean the story is almost over...but I believe we have reached some sort of turning point in the way things go. **

**Happy New Year to everyone, by the way. Yay 2009! Haha...that's my apartment number. :D Sorry, off topic, i know. But that's why you love me, right?**

**Has anyone seen the previews for the upcoming episode? It looks very McGee-centric, which is AWESOME. I love episodes about McGee. **

**Alright, well, I'm going to go back and continue my browsing of old Whose Line Is It Anyway episodes. **

* * *

_Chapter 10_

I don't know how long I was out; it could have been hours or merely seconds that I lay there in the ditch along the empty highway. But as I gradually regained my senses, I tried to take stock of my predicament. I was outside the city limits, definitely, along some unknown highway at who knows what ungodly hour of the morning. It made the chance of my being discovered quickly very slim indeed.

There was no will in my muscles to move, so I continued to lie in the soft grass. I could tell that they had removed my phone, badge, and my ID, because in the position I was in I should have been able to feel them digging into me. My entire left shoulder was soaked in blood, labeling me as a possible maniac to anyone I should happen to flag down, therefore killing my chances of hitching a ride.

So I guess I just needed to figure out which direction D.C. was in and start walking, not that I liked the idea of moving right now. My other choice, however, consisted of continuing to lie in this ditch and bleed to death…another unappealing option. It was only a matter of time before animals started coming by to use me as breakfast or something.

But maybe Gibbs would come for me. Maybe if I just stayed put he would be able to find me soon and I wouldn't _have_ to move. However, I knew this was a foolish idea. I remembered the identical vans that had left the house. The other one must have gone off in the opposite direction; Gibbs wouldn't have any idea where to look for me. I would have to help him out.

It was with that in mind that became the final motivation for me to actually move. Groaning like an old man, I managed to bring myself to a sitting position.

Goal one: accomplished.

What now?

Now that I was sitting, it was easier for me to see the problematic issue of there being no cars on the road. If only Ziva or Gibbs had taught me their crazy military sense of direction, then I would know which way to start walking. I could almost hear Gibbs' voice in my head, like Obi Wan Kenobi did to Luke Skywalker…only I wasn't being told to use the Force.

"_Start walking. If you end up in Nebraska then you've gone the wrong way."_

A lot of help that old man was.

Headlights suddenly came into view from around the trees, bathing the surrounding area with light for a few brief seconds. I didn't have the time or physical ability to react to the abrupt appearance, so I just sat there on the ground stupidly.

_You're a fucking retard, DiNozzo._

I know.

_Why do you get yourself into these situations?_

Life hates me.

_You need to take better care of yourself._

I've tried. It's boring.

Another half an hour and another car came and went as I sat there in the cold, dewy grass. I really needed to stand up.

I wondered if it was worth the risk to stand in the middle of the road. Maybe someone would see me then…but I doubted it. People driving this time of night were either cab drivers or drunk, and neither of them had a high rate of missing road obstructions. Though it would be an easier way to go. If I was hit just right, it would be less painful than my current path of bleeding to death.

I almost felt Gibbs slapping me on the back of the head for that. I sighed. Well, I wasn't going to get anywhere just sitting here like an idiot. With another loud groan of agony as pain shot through my entire body, I pushed myself up off the ground. Blood trickled down my arm, warm and unpleasantly sticky. I swayed when I finally managed to stand upright, teetering on the impulse to just fall back down and not get up. It would be so much simpler and less painful.

But I remained standing; I don't to this day know how I did it. It must have been a miracle. I was insanely dizzy from the massive amount of blood that I had already lost, but I was still able to maintain consciousness. That was good. You can't do anything helpful when you're passed out on the ground like an imbecile.

Headlights appeared again in the darkness, illuminating the dark, unlit highway. Using the remaining shreds of adrenaline my body had left, I did the stupidest thing I could think of. I ran out into the road, holding my uninjured arm up. I knew that it was going too fast to not hit me before it stopped, so I closed my eyes and braced myself for the impact. There was a screech of tires, however, and at the last moment I jumped to the side and let it slide past me.

It was a cab, and was thankfully unoccupied by anyone but the driver.

"What the hell is your problem?" the driver demanded, after he had pulled over to the side of the road, overcome his momentary shock and launched himself out of the front seat of the car, slamming the door behind him. "Are you trying to get yourself killed or something?"

The guy sounded like he was from New York City. That was good…that meant he was less likely to be a gypsy and more likely to take a bleeding federal cop where he needed to go, no questions asked.

"I need a lift," I said quickly. "To NCIS, Navy Yard, Washington D.C."

"How do I know you're―"the man started to say, then broke off quickly, catching sight of my less-than-pristine condition. "Oh no," he said, backing away. "Whatever it is, I'm not getting involved."

I sighed. I guess I didn't really blame him. If I had been asked by a guy in the middle of the night on a deserted highway, covered in blood and claiming to be a federal agent to ride in the same vehicle as me, then I would have gotten straight back in the car and driven very fast the other way.

"Listen, I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I'm working a case and I need a lift back to D.C."

"You're a Special Agent, huh? Let me see your badge then."

Damn.

_"Badges? We ain't got not badges! We don't need no badges! I don't have to show you any stinking badges!"_

There was something seriously wrong with me if movie quotes popped into my head even in situations such as these.

"I'd show you a badge, but the last ride I was on stole it from me," I said, knowing how feeble that statement sounded.

"How do I know you're not like, an axe murderer or something?" he questioned, raising a valid point.

"I'm not carrying and axe, am I?" I pointed out. "And if I was, then why would I ask for you to take me to a federal building?"

"So you can blow it up?"

I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. "Am I an axe murderer or a suicide bomber?"

"You tell me."

I sighed again. I was definitely not going to be able to keep this up much longer. My body was running out of the ability to remain conscious. "Listen, You take me to where I want to go, I'll pay you triple when we get there."

That seemed to get his attention. Money was always a good way to conquer fear…I just hoped we weren't too far away from D.C. or this guy was going to end up with half my paycheck.

Apparently, I was offering to give him more money than he thought an axe murderer or a suicide bomber should have, because I saw the faint glimmer of acceptance in his eyes.

"Alright, get in," he mumbled, gesturing to the car. Thankful to all of the higher powers in existence, I stumbled to the ugly yellow slice of heaven. The cabby hung back, unsure if I needed help or not.

I didn't at first, and was very proud of myself for this, but halfway there the world swayed and caused me to lose balance. The cab driver caught my uninjured arm to prevent me from crashing into the pavement.

"Are you absolutely sure you don't want me to take you to a hospital instead?" he asked. "You're in pretty bad shape."

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding. Did you get shot?"

"Stabbed," I replied as I leaned against the side of the car. "And two days ago a _real_ suicide bomber blew up a warehouse I happened to be standing in front of. I'm still sore from that."

"The warehouse…by the docks? On the other side of town?"

"Yeah. You heard about that?"

"They said it was a gas explosion on the news."

"Because that's what we told them to say," I groaned. "Don't you read any crime fiction novels?"

They guy was silent. "I did read one…" he said. "called Deep Six. By Thom E. Gemcity."

I stared at him for a long second. This could not be happening to me.

"I love his books, and so does my wife. They just seem so realistic..."

"You have no idea," I muttered.

Gently, the driver set me in the front seat ―very unorthodox―and proceeded to drive on into the darkness.

"Where exactly are we?" I asked after a moment when things still didn't look familiar.

"About forty miles outside Washington, on the Virginia side," he responded.

No wonder I couldn't see any city lights. That car ride must have been longer than I thought.

"I'd lend you my phone so you could call somebody," he said after a moment. "But the battery's dead." He held the thing up for proof.

"That's fine…"I said quietly, leaning back and closing my eyes, trying to ignore the pain in my entire body.

"Hey, hey, hey," the man said anxiously, noticing my closed eyes. "What am I supposed to do if you die?"

"Take me to NCIS and tell someone."

"You seem awfully untroubled about it."

"I'm thinking that death would be less painful right now."

"Are you _absolutely sure_ you don't want me to take you to a hospital?"

"Yes. Drive."

I floated in and out of consciousness as he continued on, listening only vaguely to the driver rambling on. I could tell he was trying to keep me talking, afraid that I would slip off and die if he let me fall asleep. I mostly concentrated on trying not to move.

After a long while, we slowed and came to a stop and the cab driver rolled down his window, letting in the chilly morning air. The sun was starting to come up now and the darkness was fading away.

"We're here," he announced, turning to me, and I opened my eyes. "At NCIS. What do I say to the guards?"

"The truth."

I saw the two guards at the gate come out and walk to the cab, their boots crunching loudly on the gravel.

"I've got a wounded man here who says he's a federal agent," the driver said before the guards could speak or draw any hasty conclusions. "He told me to bring him here."

"Name?"

The question was directed at me. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," I responded, and I felt a flashlight being waved in my face.

"Your ID please, sir."

"I was on a mission on Special Agent Gibbs' team and it went screwy," I explained. "The guys we were chasing took it from me."

The guard sighed, not wanting to be too difficult in case their need to be thorough caused me to bleed to death before I got help. "Is there anyone in the building that could verify your identity?" he asked finally.

"Call Abby Sciuto, the forensic scientist," I said, saying the first name that came into my mind. I knew that none of the team would be back yet; it would be very un-Gibbs like to not to at least try and follow one of the vans. Plus, there was the whole issue of Michelle's body in the basement of that house; a crime scene that needed to be processed. I shifted in my seat, then instantly regretted the decision. "On second thought, call Doctor Mallard. If he's in."

The light left my face to shine on my blood covered shoulder and arm. Swift orders were given to find Ducky. I leaned back against the seat again and let the voices wash over me as I closed my eyes once more. I heard the guards talking to the cab driver and gave him instructions to slowly pull forward into the Yard. After an undefined amount of time, I began to hear Ducky's Scottish accent on the edges of my consciousness.

"Oh, Tony, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he said, sort of like a parent gently scolding a child who had come in the house covered in mud.

"It's just a scratch, Ducky. Just give me a Band-Aid and I'll be right as rain before Palmer can say 'blood loss'."

I opened my eyes and saw Ducky and Palmer, taxi door open and a hand inspecting my injured shoulder.

"Get the gurney, Mr. Palmer," Ducky ordered.

"I don't need that!" I protested quickly. "My shoulder's hurt…not my legs."

I attempted to get out of the car, but swayed slightly. Palmer stepped forward and prevented me from crashing head first into the pavement. "Although I am a little dizzy. Maybe I can just borrow Palmer here to keep me on my feet."

Ducky sighed, and I could have sword the words "Just like Gibbs" had escaped his lips before going ahead to prepare Autopsy. Palmer, thankfully, didn't pester me with questions as we followed the ME at a slower pace. I was glad of this; visions of Agent Lee's death kept coming up…and I really did not want to be the one to break the news to him.

"Set him in my chair, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said as the doors swished open.

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

"And call an ambulance, would you please."

"I don't need an ambulance," I said as Ducky began prying away my lame attempt at bandaging myself up.

"You should have gone straight to the hospital," he told me, setting down his white First Aid kit on the desk. "Now, tell me what happened," he said, sitting on a stool and with the help of Palmer began to cut my shirt away from the wound.

"We were chasing a suspect, and then all of a sudden he turns around and stabs me with this huge knife. It must have been seven inches long."

"And he shoved it all the way in, then pulled it out?"

"How did you know that?"

"The amount of blood loss and shape of the wound, Tony. And the absence of a knife remaining in your shoulder."

The entire left sleeve of my shirt was gone, and I could see the semi-clotted blood had created grisly streaks all the way down to my hand.

"You're going to need stitches, I believe," Ducky pronounced. "Can you move your arm at all?"

As I tried to lift my left arm from its limp position at my side, I discovered that several things didn't work like they should have. The pinkie and ring finger on my hand were numb and didn't seem to want to move.

"Ducky…" I said. "Half my fingers aren't working."

"I noticed," he replied thoughtfully. He reached over and squeezed them. "Can you feel that?"

"They're numb, but I can sort of feel it. I'm numb all the way up to my shoulder."

"I believe your ulnar nerve is in distress," Ducky pronounced. "That will take surgery to fix."

"Ambulance is on its way," Palmer said, interrupting. "And Gibbs and the rest are back."

"They are?" I said, getting up out of the chair. "Okay."

"Tony, you stay here until the ambulance arrives," Ducky said firmly, pushing me back down. "Mr. Palmer, did you tell Gibbs that Tony is here?"

"No…he hung up before I could. But he and the others are coming down anyway."

"Alright then, let's see what we can do about cleaning Tony up as much as we can before the EMT's from Bethesda arrive."

As Palmer busied himself on the other side of the room, I began to think.

"I think I'm going to do something crazy, Ducky," I pronounced, an idea forming in my head.

"My dear boy, I don't think your body can take much more of that from you today."

"You remember that problem I was discussing with you before? That I needed your advice on?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not a problem anymore."

I saw a small smile cross his features. "Congratulations, Tony."

"Yeah, and up in the office earlier we―"

I was interrupted by the doors swishing open. Gibbs strode in, followed closely by Ziva, McGee, and Abby.

"Ah, Jethro," Ducky said. "You're just in time to escort Anthony here to the emergency room."

"Tony!" I heard Ziva shout as soon as she noticed me in the chair. I stood up, ignoring the protests from both Ducky and my injured arm, and ran to meet her halfway across the room. She looked like she was about to fling her arms around me, but stopped halfway through the motion when she saw the blood, her eyes widening in shock and distress. I didn't care, however; I took two steps forward and used my good arm to bring her closer to me. The possible threat that I might not have been able to see her again had turned on a light bulb inside my brain. What if I had been stabbed in an area that was much worse? What if I didn't live past my time in the ditch on the side of the road? I realized that I had come very close to not seeing her again, and that was something that sent cold shivers down my spine. After a split second's hesitation where I pondered the pros and cons of this being witnessed by Gibbs, I leaned down and kissed her.

After she got over her initial surprise, I felt her throw herself into the kiss. I was starting to get dizzy again from the sudden movement, but holding onto Ziva with the one hand was keeping me upright for now. She put her arms around my neck carefully, not wanting to hurt my shoulder too much, and pulled herself closer to me. I guess she didn't mind getting blood all over her shirt. I kissed her fiercely, with all everything I had left in my body―which was not much. I didn't care what Gibbs thought right now, I really didn't. He could fire me, and I wouldn't mind.

Of two things, however, I was absolutely certain: one, I could have died tonight, and never have seen Ziva again. And two: I had finally come to understand what Paula was saying that time, about life being too short not to say what you feel.

Life seemed incredibly short to me right now, as unending blackness came at me from all sides. My knees buckled, and there was the sensation of falling. I heard someone call my name urgently.

And then I heard nothing.

* * *

**Oh, and by the way, the quote in italics that Tony was thinking of about badges is from the movie _The Treasure of Sierra Madre_, 1948. In case you were wondering. It's pretty famous.**

**QUESTIONS? **

**COMMENTS? **

**CRITIQUE? **

**EPISODE DISCUSSION? **

**IDEAS FOR A ONE-SHOT I COULD DO? **

**BURNING DESIRE TO SEE GIANT TALKING IRISH MUSHROOMS IN HOT PINK DRESSES? **

**Feel free to leave a review, and I can help you with 5 out of the 6. **


	11. The Hospital

**So yeah. Here it is....FINALLY....chapter 11. I know you guys have been waiting a long time for this and I'm sorry. Between idiot boy drama (Why are all the good-looking ones complete assholes? Is that like, a _rule_ or something?) and fighting with my mother on whether or not I need therapy (she thinks I'm suicidal due to my habitual mono-syllabic phone conversations. I just hate talking on the phone! UGH!) I have had a very full and emotionally dysfunctional several weeks. **

**But I managed to overcome my writers block through all that and thus this chapter finally made it into existence. **

**P.S.: For those of you who requested the hot pink Irish talking mushrooms, you're going to have to wait until the next chapter. Which will hopefully be up sooner than what my abysmal updating skills have been doing lately.  
**

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**Chapter 11**

It was dark when I finally became aware of myself again. I felt strange, almost as if I was floating in space and all the stars had disappeared.

Was I dead?

I thought about that possibility for a moment. Being dead would really suck right now.

I tried to move, so I could make more sense of my surroundings, but my muscles weren't working and still I could see nothing. Where the hell was I? Where was Ziva, and Gibbs, and Ducky? Was I really dead?

_No, of course not, stupid._

How do you know?

_I'm thinking death would be less painful. _

But I'm not in any pain.

_Yes you are. _

And as the word came up, I discovered that I really was. It was throbbing all over my body…especially around my left shoulder and arm. What the hell had I been doing? I vaguely remembered lying in a ditch on the side of an empty road. Was I still there? Had no one found me yet? I settled back into whatever I was on and sighed. Gibbs would find me. I just had to hang on a little while longer.

Then, gradually, noises started to reach my ears. An incessant, steady beeping and murmuring voices.

Voices.

So I wasn't in the ditch still?

I tried to move my right arm to feel the grass under me, but all I managed to do was twitch my fingers a little. What they touched didn't feel like grass, or dirt, or anything that you would find outside. It felt like linen…like bed sheets.

My mind began to catch up with the rest of me at that point, putting all the clues together.

Beeping.

Linen sheets.

Murmuring voices.

I must be in a hospital. My mind flashed back to the time when I had the plague…blue lights _still_ gave me the creeps.

"Did you see that?" a voice whispered, coming from somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. It sounded like McGee.

"See what?" a second voice answered from my left side, sounding very, very tired and very, very much like Ziva.

"He just twitched his fingers!"

"He did that about two hours ago, McGee."

"I know, but this time it was his whole hand; he moved his whole hand."

"That does not mean he is waking up."

"Well, at least we know he's not comatose."

"He was not in a coma."

"I know, but…"

"He has survived the pneumonic plague, McGee. He can survive a knife wound in the shoulder." Ziva sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than Probie, however. I did not like to think that I was making her worry, so I decided it was time to insert myself into the conversation.

"Listen to Ziva, McGee," I said, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "You can't get rid of me that easy."

"Tony!" Ziva said as I opened my eyes. I could see her smiling at me from the left side of the bed, her hands entwined tightly in the one of mine that she could reach.

"Hey, Ziva," I murmured, looking her over carefully. She looked extremely tired, and still in the clothes I remembered her wearing before.

"Why don't you go get Gibbs and the doctor, McGee?" she asked, her eyes not leaving mine.

"Uh…okay," the Probie said slowly, looking back and forth between me and the beautiful Israeli woman, obviously putting two and two together in his head.

"What are you doing, McDawdle?" I asked after a couple long seconds and he hadn't moved.

"Observing," he said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, don't."

"I'm a federal investigator, Tony. It's what I do."

"Go do it somewhere else. And bring a doctor with extremely effective pain medication with you when you come back."

He patted me on the shoulder (my good one) in a brotherly sort of manner, and then left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Are you in pain?" Ziva asked me worriedly, leaning in closer.

"Nah," I said calmly, trying not to wince as I said it.

"You just asked McGee to get painkillers."

"Do you have any idea how trippy these hospital pain meds can be? Of course I want them."

She gave me a Look (capital L) and punched me gently in the leg. "Be serious."

"I am."

I stared into Ziva's eyes for a good long second after McGee left. We had been so busy since the last time we'd been so intimately close, and therefore had no time to properly deal with rather severe change in our relationship had taken. We'd gone from innocent, flirtatious partners to whatever the hell we were now with one long, heavenly, seemingly perfect kiss in the office that now came back to my mind with perfect clarity. What kind of change would that mean for us? What would it do to our work dynamic? I wanted to know that the kiss was real, I wanted to know that it was more than just two people taking something too far on accident.

Ziva was softly rubbing her fingers on the hand of mine that she still held. I wanted to ask her all these things that were burning in my mind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, the words would stick in my throat. So I finally had to settle on something a little less complicated. Like, the reason I was lying in this hospital bed anyway.

"So, what's wrong with me, Nurse Ziva?" I asked her nonchalantly.

"I'm sure you remember that you got stabbed in the shoulder," she reminded me. "And the reason you collapsed in Autopsy is because your actions had finally caught up with you."

"Right. I take it that you want to know how I made it back to NCIS after being briefly kidnapped?"

"You can tell me later," she said. "But at the moment I'm just grateful you're here with us." She leaned forward slightly, but pulled back shortly as a familiar doctor walked into the room, followed shortly by Gibbs.

"McGee's getting coffee. Why don't you join him, David?"

"Of course, Gibbs," she replied, the only hesitation she showed in following the order was the lingering touch she left as she let go of my hand.

"You really need to take better care of yourself, DiNozzo," the doctor said, and I recognized him as I pulled his face out of the fog that was my memories as a plague victim.

"Brad!" I exclaimed.

"How in the world could you have pissed someone off enough to make them stab you with a seven-inch knife?" he asked, shaking his head and looking over my charts.

"It was a case, I was doing my job," I said calmly.

"You chased a terrorist into a corner," Gibbs said.

"What else was I supposed to do? Let him go?"

"Avoid the knife next time, Tony," Gibbs said, sitting down in one of the plastic chairs by the window.

I wanted to add something in my defense to that but could think of nothing to say so instead I address Dr. Brad Pitt. "So, what's wrong with me, doc?" I asked.

"Well, a fairly large knife ripped a giant hole in your shoulder, causing massive bloodloss. It also damaged the large nerve that runs from your shoulder to your fingers, which is why your entire left arm probably hurts. That has been repaired somewhat by surgery, but it is possible that you may experience the tendency for your left arm to go numb, or fall asleep, more frequently; especially when you sleep or have long periods of inactivity."

"So I guess it will motivate you to stop being a lazy-ass at work?" Gibbs suggested.

"Great," I said sarcastically, looking at my injured arm. "Exactly what I wanted."

"Could be worse," Brad said, flipping the folder with my charts back over.

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Rest up now. If you're good, then maybe I'll let you out of here tomorrow."

"Oh, goody."

After a final check of my stats on the monitor and various other things, Brad left with a promise that he would come back again.

So I was left in the room with Gibbs. He stared at me from his little plastic chair for a long second before saying anything.

"What happened, DiNozzo?" he asked quietly. I paused before speaking, trying to get my thoughts in order.

"Um, they put me in a van, drove west, then randomly pushed me out on the side of the road," I explained, giving him the short version. "I didn't really hear anything…no names…no hints of dastardly plans for you to foil. I ended up in this ditch and some cab driver picked me up and drove me back to NCIS. Ducky and Palmer stitched me up, and I suppose you know the rest. Very anticlimactic and non-thrilling, I know."

Gibbs stared at me for a couple more seconds, then leaned forward and smacked me lightly upside the head.

"Ow! Boss, I'm injured! What was that for?"

"You know what it's for," he said, then stood up and started for the door. "Call Ziva when they release you. She'll take you home. And try not to get stabbed by anyone between now and when you come back in on Tuesday."

"Tuesday? But it's Wednesday, boss…?"

"I know what day it is, DiNozzo."

When he left, I groaned and leaned back into my pillows. I hated sitting around in my apartment being bored out of my mind. I'd rather be doing nothing at work than be doing nothing at home.

"Are you feeling okay, Mr. DiNozzo?" a nurse asked, poking her head in concernedly. "Do you need some morphine?"

"Ah, no, not right now," I responded, knowing that it would only make me sleepy and I did _not_ want to fall asleep now, especially now that Ziva would be coming back soon. "But I would like to sit up, if that's not too much trouble."

"Sure, Mr. DiNozzo," the young female nurse walked in and pressed a little red button on the side of the bed, and I was elevated slowly into a sitting position as McGee and Ziva came back into the room.

"I brought you something," Ziva said, holding a cup out to me. I took it with my free hand. "It's just water, but the doctor says you have to drink it so they can take you off the IV."

"Right." I tipped the cup to my lips and drained the cup in one go.

"Wow. You didn't even have to fight him about it," McGee marveled.

"I'm confused too, McProbie. No doubt Ziva used some secret interrogation technique or something on me."

"Yeah. It was called 'doctor's orders'," she said sarcastically, resuming her position seated at the left side of the bed. McGee remained standing though.

"I have to get back to work now," he explained as he headed back out the door. "Abby said she was going to come by this afternoon to see how you were."

"Alright. Bye, Probie. Don't mess with my desk while I'm gone!"

McGee rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind him.

"Why do you give him such a hard time?" Ziva asked me for perhaps the umpteenth time in the four years we'd spent working together.

"Because I'm the senior field agent. It's my right."

A small flicker of a grin touched the corners of her lips, but faded away quickly. "Has Gibbs talked to you?" she asked suddenly, leaning closer and grabbing my hand comfortingly. Whether it was for her comfort or mine, I couldn't tell.

"Gibbs? About what, exactly?"

"About…what happened in Autopsy this morning."

I suddenly had an intense flash of my actions when I had been returned to NCIS. I had forgotten the second kiss Ziva and I had shared: the brief, passionate one that I had initiated before my collapse.

"Oh…" I whispered, trailing off.

"You remember."

"I remember. I'm sorry about that."

"Are you?"

I paused before I answered with a simple, "No."

The smile that tugged on her mouth was wider and more pronounced this time. "Gibbs hasn't talked to me about it either," she said. "But I believe we're both going to be getting a lecture."

"I already got a slap on the head for it."

"At least you got it over with."

"With many more still to come, I'm sure."

She leaned forward, running a soft hand over my injured arm. "You've been unconscious almost the entire day," she said, and I could tell she was diverting away from the talk we both knew had to happen sooner or later. "Gibbs and McGee and I followed the black van, but we lost it after about an hour or so. We have no clues still about what we may have accidentally stumbled upon. He has spoken to the Director and I believe they are trying to get help from other agencies."

"We'll be lucky if we get anything. Gibbs has had too much fun pissing everyone off in the past. If anyone does end up working with us, it'll be very miserable for everyone.'

Ziva smiled wanly. "I am just glad you are okay," she whispered.

"Me too."

She leaned forward more, just a little, her hand caressing the side of my face.

…

Ziva left the hospital about twenty minutes later, via angry phone call from Gibbs. She promised to come back later, however, and with a small kiss placed on my right cheek, she departed and I was left alone.

But Abby came striding in about 2 hours after Ziva had left, plopping herself ungracefully into a chair next to the bed.

"Hi Abby," I said, putting as much cheer in my voice as I could. I knew she worried easily, and I wanted her to know that I was fine.

"Hey," was all the response I got from the forensic scientist.

"What's up with you?" I asked, immediately taken aback by the uncharacteristic harshness in her tone.

She was silent, and instead just fixed me with a steely glare.

"Are you going to tell me what I apparently did to piss you off?"

"You can't figure it out?" she asked me.

"Would I be asking if..." I started, protesting the unfair assumption all women have that men can understand the subtle hints, but trailed of in defeat. "Oh, never mind."

"Guess!" she demanded.

I racked my brain for anything I might have done recently to put myself on the Goth's bad side. Nothing came up.

"Was it because I got stabbed by a terrorist?" I knew she got touchy when one of us got hurt. "Because I can't really control who and what other people feel like stabbing with-"

"No Tony! And don't try to hide it. McGee told me what you did. He saw it!"

"Wha...?"

"You kissed Ziva! You kissed her and I wasn't there!"

I took a mental step back. "Huh?"

"I knew you liked each other, but I didn't know that it was enough for you to make out in front of Gibbs! And I missed it!"

"I thought I was about to die, Abby. The most logical thing I could think of was to make sure she knew how I felt."

"And how do you feel?"

"Like shit."

"I meant about Ziva."

"I thought that much was obvious."

"I want to hear you say it."

"But I don't know how I feel. If you want my brain analysis go to Ducky. He understands it better."

"Fine. I won't bug you anymore about it," she said, getting the hint. "I'm just excited for you that's all."

A thought struck me. "If missing it bothered you so much, then why didn't you just hack into the security cameras or something?"

A smug smile crossed her pale features. "I did. I just wanted to give you a hard time."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot, Abby," I mumbled sarcastically.

"No problem!" she said cheerfully, pulling her chair closer to the bed, the metal feet scraping loud across the floor. "I'm sorry you got stabbed by the knife, Tony," she added. "That sucks."

"Yes it does."

"Do you know when they're going to let you out?

"Dr. Brad said he'd let me out tomorrow if I was good."

"And you know that Gibbs won't let you come back to work though."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. I am not looking forward to a week or so of doing nothing in my apartment."

"You could clean it," she suggested with a laugh.

"I doubt I'll be _that_ bored."

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**Okay. That's the end of the chapter.  
**

**QUESTIONS?  
COMMENTS?  
NEED TO DISCUSS LAST WEEKS EPISODE IN OBSESSIVE DETAIL?  
WANT ME TO SAY SOMETHING COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY RANDOM?**

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**


	12. We'll Be Holding On Forever

**Yes. As per my usual deal this is later than I promised. I guess in my own personal world "this weekend" means "Next month."**

**I am so hopeless when it comes to keeping my own deadlines. **

**ANYWAY....Here is the fluff-tastic Chapter 12. I haven't had much Tony-Ziva fluff...more Tony-Ziva angst....so I decided to give you a whole chapter of it. :D I have no idea really what's going to happen next (well, between now and the far-distant ending of the story) so I'm going to have to do some serious outlining/planning type organizational thingies. **

**Alright. I'll shut up now. You know how I always get carried away with my A/N's.  
**

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Chapter 12**_

"Come on, Tony…where are your keys?" I heard Ziva mumble through the drug-induced cloud surrounding my brain. She was fumbling around my front door, trying to search for a spare and keep me upright at the same time. It was a difficult task, to be sure, and I tried to help her out by attempting to support my own weight for a while, but we both learned the hard way that was not really a good idea. She eventually leaned me up against the wall by my door, and, semi-satisfied that I wouldn't go crashing face first into the concrete outside my apartment, she proceeded to look around for the elusive piece of metal that was going to allow us entrance to my home-sweet-home. I knew that it would probably be really helpful to tell Ziva where the spare key was, but I couldn't for the life of me remember where I had put the thing. But, I knew that it wouldn't be much of a problem, because she would give up soon on trying to get in the traditional way that she would just pick the lock. So I leaned back against the wall and waited, and as I waited I began to slip farther and farther down the wall until I was sitting on the ground, head back and legs splayed out in a kind of weird fashion. But I was in not in the right mental state to really care about the aesthetic nature of my position.

After about an hour, (it was probably more like ten seconds…but it felt like an hour) the lock on my door clicked open and Ziva pulled out a simple metal instrument from the keyhole, stuffing it back into her pocket.

"Okay, let's go, Tony," she said, turning to me and holding out her hand to pull me back up. I took it, but I can honestly say that I was absolutely no help when it came to the task of transferring me from the floor outside my apartment to the extremely comfortable leather sofa in the living room. It was a good thing Ziva was not the ordinary type of silly girl, because she was strong enough to support all of my weight. I sighed as she set me gently on the sofa in a sitting position, right in the middle and directly symmetrical with the TV.

"Just stay right there, okay?" she said to me, and I nodded, concentrating very hard on keeping myself in the sitting position. I leaned back into the couch and laid my head back, trying to shake away the fog of drugs away enough so that I would be able to keep up a decent conversation with her. She was doing a great deal for me already, and I wanted to make it as easy as possible. After a couple of minutes, Ziva came back into the living room with several pillows she had taken off my bed. She laid them out on one end of the couch, with extra padding on one side, and then told me to lie down on them. I did so without complaint, and settled into them, noticing that my entire left arm was elevated.

"You need to keep it up and away from you, because your friend Dr. Brad wants you to hold off on running the risk of accidentally sleeping on it."

"Okay," I said.

"This means that you're going to have to sleep on the couch for a while so you don't toss and turn as much," she knelt down on the floor between the couch and my beat up, very worn, very amazing coffee table so her face would be level with mine.

The sudden appearance of her face directly in my field of vision was enough to take my breath away. Her hair was wavy and swept off to one side, and her tanned skin glowed in the light of the floor lamp that sat in the corner. She must have turned it on when I wasn't looking. Her deep brown eyes held both concern and relief, along with something else that I couldn't quite place. I just looked back at her, taking in every feature, profoundly grateful that whatever insane luck I had in getting back to NCIS kept me alive. The thought of being separated from Ziva, whether I was alive or dead, was a thought that rang in my deepest nightmares and sent unpleasant shivers down my spine. It was surprising…the experience that I had with those terrorists was one I'd had before, and it was not the worst thing that had happened to me by far. But it was different this time because the consequences could have been much greater. I wanted to kiss her again, but I didn't really have the strength to bridge the 12-inch gap between our faces.

Tentatively, Ziva reached out with her delicate fingers and ran them along my hairline, down my face, and finally ended with her hand resting gently on my cheek. She did it very slowly, and her touch left a tingling sensation on my skin. "Is there anything I can get you?" she asked me, an abstract look on her face as she began to caress my lips with her thumb, which parted slightly in response to the touch.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

"Okay…"

She inched closer, her fingers still on my face and her eyes locked onto mine. I couldn't look away from her even if someone had dropped a nuclear bomb outside my window. It was impossible. The proximity between us was tampering with my ability to breathe, but that was fine with me. I had the irrational thought that I didn't really need to breathe anyway; it wasn't important right now. Ziva's hand slowly moved from my face…to my neck…and finally stopped as it rested on my chest.

"…_And I need you now tonight  
And I need you more than ever  
And if you'll only hold me tight  
We'll be holding on forever…"_

I was in shock from the barrage of endless pounding that my emotions were receiving. My senses had suddenly kicked into overdrive and I was surfing on uncharted waters in the middle of a hurricane. There was no previous experience or reference point that I could pull from my memory to tell me what to do next. It was both unnerving and exciting to know this; for one thing it was further proof that I was right about my feelings for Ziva, that I _hadn't_ felt like this before, as corny as it sounded to say it. I decided in a split second that I was just going to jump into this situation with both feet and see what happens.

So with my good arm, I reached out and lifted my hand slowly to her face, returning her caress. Her skin was smooth and perfect, and I felt her lean into my touch and close her eyes. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, I let my fingers drift from the area under her eyes to run along her cheekbone, memorizing by touch the features of her face. Her breath hitched in her throat much in the same way that mine had, and I remembered to tell myself to breathe as well. I was worried that one little thing, one little noise, would send this whole thing out the window. The silence in the apartment was…well, it was very noticeable. There was no music throbbing through the drywall that separated me from the college students that lived one space over, no traffic noise from the street below, no mood-killing ring of a cell phone. It was intense, and I was surprised that the pulsing of my madly beating heart was not clearly audible.

After what must have been ten eons, my fingers reached the sensuous curve of her lips. Like mine had done, her lips parted involuntarily when they came in contact with my skin. She took a deep breath, her eyes remained closed, and I felt her other hand on my arm. It felt like fire, even through my shirt, and it left a burning trail as it traveled up the length of my arm towards the hand on her face. She pressed it lightly against her, and then gently clasped my hand in hers, guiding it to her lips, where she proceeded to kiss each finger slowly, tenderly. She then let my hand trail up the line of her jaw and down her neck, to rest softly at the base, near her collarbone. My eyes were closed now that she was in control of where my hand went, and just let the sensations I was feeling wash over me in tidal waves.

I have no idea how long we remained in this position, and I didn't really care. I really didn't have any perception of time at all; it was as if the world had frozen in its orbit and all time had stopped. Breathing was no longer an issue, because I didn't seem to need oxygen anymore. Ziva's presence was all that was required for me to survive.

…

I don't know what startled us out of our trance, but somehow the perfection of the stillness between us was broken. Ziva's eyes opened, as did mine, and she reluctantly pulled herself away, her fingers lingering, touching.

"It's getting late," she said in a hoarse whisper. "And there is a lot for me to do at work tomorrow."

"Wait…" I said, unable to keep the pleading out of my voice, the sincere, breath-stealing, unexplainable need that I had for her to stay. "Stay. Please."

There was severe conflict in her eyes, I could see it flashing as she stared down at me. "Tony…you know I can't…"

"Please."

There was more silence, and the tension between us was so thick it could be cut with a knife. She stood there next to the couch, looking down on me, torn between what she had to do and what she _wanted_ to do. It seemed like an eternity that I waited for her to decide, the fate of my soul seeming to hang in the balance. In my head, I knew that was a bit extreme…that it was perfectly alright that she went back to her own apartment…that I would get over it eventually and I would see her again tomorrow. It was the painkillers talking, making me think all these outrageous things. But it was so painful to think of the prospect that she might leave my sight.

_Ugh…Tony…you are so pathetic. No more romantic comedies for you. Ever. _

Ziva took a deep breath, and I locked eyes with her. She had made a decision.

"Fine, Tony, I will stay." A smile crept its way across my features. "But only until you fall asleep. Then I will go."

"But you'll come back." It wasn't a question.

She nodded. "Yes."

"I can live with that."

She smiled, and then stood up. "Is there anything you need?"

"No, I'm fine," I replied, still reeling from the intense moment of a few seconds previous. "I don't need anything."

"Is it alright if I raid your fridge then?"

"Go ahead. Though I can't guarantee there's anything edible in there. It's been a while since i've had time to eat at home."

I listened to her rummage around in my tiny kitchen as I adjusted myself as best I could, trying to make enough room on the couch for her. There were other places she could sit, of course, but I'd rather have her as close as possible.

Because I was crazy on painkillers, of course.

_Liar._

Unfortunately, she would have to sit at the other end, by my feet, because really the only effective adjusting I could do was to curl my legs up into a semi-fetal position. The slightly awkward slant I was in, due to the elevation of one shoulder and not the other, gave me the feeling that I was at any moment going to slide right off the couch and onto the floor.

Ziva came back with two glasses and a sandwich in her hands, setting one of the plastic 24-ounce Ohio State game cups on the coffee table in front of me and holding one for herself.

"It's just water," she said. "You should probably drink some before you get dehydrated."

"Yes ma'am," I said, reaching out with my good arm to grab the cup. "Do you wanna watch a movie?"

She sighed exasperatedly, but in a joking kind of manner. "Well, it was inevitable, I suppose."

"I thought you said nothing was inevitable."

"We weren't talking about movies then," she whispered quietly. "Which movie do you want to watch?"

I cast my eyes over in the general direction of my monstrous movie collection. DVD's filled the two cabinets on either side of the TV, with a few sitting on top as the collection had grown too large to be contained in the little glass-fronted, wooden cases. I don't even know why I bother to look at them; I know what movies I own. But I scanned them quickly anyway, seeing if there was a particular title that jumped out at me. None did, so I hit the ball into Ziva's court.

"I'm good with anything. You're the guest…why don't you pick?"

She looked at me with raised eyebrows and then walked over to the TV to get a better look at my collection. "Do you have these organized in any particular way?" she asked me.

"Um, not really. My favorites tend to always gravitate towards the top though."

Ziva sifted through them all, running her fingers gently over the plastic cases as she thought about each one. "Hmm…" she murmured, stopping on a black and white case in the second row. "This one looks good."

"Of course it's good. I don't buy crappy movies."

She rolled her eyes as she opened the case, pressed the little red button on the DVD player, and inserted the disc. I tried to grab the cup of water on the coffee table while she wasn't looking, but wasn't able to get it and bring it to my mouth successfully; I was in too awkward of a position. I tried again, but suddenly Ziva's hand was there and she was holding it for me.

"You could have just asked, you know."

"You were busy."

I drank a little of the water through the straw she had thoughtfully inserted as she went and sat down on the little space of couch that was left. I curled my feet up a little more to give her some extra room, but she grabbed them gently and stretched them out so that they could rest on her lap and I wouldn't be uncomfortably scrunched up for too long.

I barely noticed what movie was on. The part of the painkillers that made you sleepy were starting to really kick in now, despite my best efforts to prevent otherwise. As I drifted off, I could feel Ziva's fingers making soothing circles on my legs through the blanket. It was very comforting, and I had the sudden flash as I remembered that my mother used to do something similar when I was younger and sick in bed. And as I began to succumb once more to unconsciousness, I could hear her singling softly in Hebrew under her breath.

....

_"Oh, Jerry, don't let's ask for the moon. We have the stars."_  
Bette Davis _Now, Voyager_ (1942)

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**Okay, the song in italics like, in the middle of the chapter is called 'Total Eclipse of the Heart', originally sung by Bonnie Tyler back in the eighties. It was a really weird music video. (the best version I think is the one Josh Groban and Ellen DeGeneres did on her show that one time... :D)** **But yeah, I was listening to the song while I was writing a piece of this chapter and it kinda fit. **

**So what do you think of the story so far? And what about season 6? DID ANYONE READ THAT DEPRESSING NCIS ARTICLE IN ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY?  
Feel free to review....It's been a while since I've discussed episodes with you guys!  
**


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